WYN 
GIRLS 


MARION  AMES  TAGGART 


y  i  r  > 


THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 


"TOM  HAD   CAMPED   OUT,   AND  HE  INSISTED  ON  COOKING   THE   STEAK." 


THE 

WYNDHAM  GIRLS 


BY 


MARION    AMES  TAGGART 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY    C.  M.  RELYEA 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1902 


Copyright,  1901,  1902,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


Published  October,  1902 


THE  DEVINNE  PRESS 


TO 
CAROLYN   WELLS 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  "POOR  HUMPTY  DUMPTY!" 3 

II  FRIENDS,  COUNSELORS,  AND  PLANS       ....  22 

III  WAYS  AND  MEANS 40 

IV  MAKING  THE  BEST  OF  IT .  59 

V  PHYLLIS  AND  BARBARA  ENTER   THE  LISTS   .  75 

VI    MARK  TAPLEY'S  KIND  OF  DAYS 91 

VII    TAKING  ARMS  AGAINST  A  SEA  OF  TROUBLES  107 

VIII    THE  TURN  OF  THE  LANE 122 

IX    HOME-KEEPING  HEARTS 140 

X    DISCOVERIES 157 

XI    LOYAL  PHYLLIS 172 

XH    THE  SQUARE  BECOMES  A  TRIANGLE    ....  190 

XIH   THE  STRAY  UNIT 207 

XIV    THE  LITTLE  BLIND  GOD  OPENS  HIS  EYES      .  224 
XV   WREATHING  HOLLY  AND  TWINING  BAY      .     .  242 

XVI    SPOKES  FROM  THE  HUB      . 258 

XVII    THE  LADY  OF  THE  SCALES 271 

XVHI    UNDER  THE  HARVEST  MOON  .  289 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

"TOM    HAD    CAMPED    OUT,    AND    HE    INSISTED    ON 
COOKING    THE    STEAK" Frontispiece 


THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 


"A   YOUNG    MAN    DASHED    DOWN    THE    STEPS   INTO 
THE  RUINS" 51 

AUNT  HENRIETTA 81 

THE  EXPEDITION  IN  SEARCH  OF  PEACE 125 

"'LOOK  OUT,  TRUCHI-KI;    YOU'LL  FALL!'  PHYLLIS 
SAID" 145 

" '  I  KNEW  THAT  IF  I  WAS  AWFULLY  ILL  MISS  BAB 
WOULD  BE  NICE  TO  YOU,'  MURMURED  MARGERY"  237 

A  BEARER  OF   GOOD  TIDINGS    .  .  279 


THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 


CHAPTER  I 


'POOR  HUMPTY  DUMPTY!" 

0  pink  for  me,  please;  I  want  that 
beautiful  shimmering  green,  made  up 
over  shining  white  silk.  It  will  make 
my  glossy  brown  eyes  and  hair  look 
like  a  ripe  chestnut  among  its  green 
leaves. ' ' 

"Oh,  Bab,  such  a  glistening  sentence!  'Shimmering 
green,'  'shining  white,'  'glossy  hair' — you  did  n't  mean 
glossy  eyes,  I  hope!  Besides,  chestnuts  don't  show 
among  green  leaves;  they  stay  in  their  burs  till  they 
drop  off  the  tree." 

"Now,  Phyllis,  what  is  the  use  of  spoiling  a  poetical 
metaphor— figure— what  do  you  call  it?     Which  do  you 
like  best?    Have  you  made  up  your  mind,  Jessamy?" 
' '  I  want  all  white ;  probably  this  mousseline  de  soie. ' ' 
"I  'm  rather  inclined  to  the  pearl,  yet  the  violet  is 
lovely." 

"You  both  'know  your  effects,'  as  that  conceited  lit- 
tle novelist  said  last  night,"  cried  Barbara.  " Jessamy 's 

3 


4  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

a  dream  in  white,  and  Phyl  looks  too  sweet  for  mortal 
uses  in  anything  demure." 

The  soft  May  wind  from  the  distant  river  blew  the 
lace  curtains  gently  to  and  fro,  and  lifted  the  squares 
of  delicate  fabrics  scattered  over  the  couch  on  which  the 
three  young  girls  were  sitting.  Jessamy,  the  elder  of 
the  two  Wyndham  sisters,  was  at  eighteen  very  beauti- 
ful, with  dainty  elegance  of  motion,  refinement  of  speech, 
almost  stately  grace,  unusual  to  her  age  and  generation. 

Barbara,  a  year  younger,  was  her  opposite.  Life,  en- 
ergy, fun  were  declared  in  every  quick  turn  of  her  head 
and  hands;  small  in  figure,  with  sparkling  dark  eyes, 
and  a  saucy  tilt  of  nose  and  chin,  she  could  hardly  have 
contrasted  more  sharply  with  her  tall,  gray-eyed,  deli- 
cately tinted  sister,  and  with  what  Bab  herself  called 
" Jessamy 's  Undine  ways." 

The  third  girl,  Phyllis,  was  twin  in  age  to  Jessamy, 
but  unlike  either  of  the  others  in  appearance  and  tem- 
perament. She  was  in  reality  their  cousin,  the  one  child 
of  their  father's  only  brother,  but,  as  she  had  been 
brought  up  with  them  since  her  fourth  year,  Jessamy 
and  Barbara  knew  no  lesser  kinship  to  her  than  to  each 
other. 

At  first  glance  Phyllis  was  not  pretty;  to  those  who 
had  known  her  for  even  a  brief  time  she  was  beautiful. 
Sweetness,  unselfishness,  content  shone  out  from  her 
dark-blue  eyes,  with  the  large  pupils  and  long,  dark 
lashes.  Her  lips  rested  together  with  the  suggestion  of 
a  smile  in  their  corners,  and  the  clear  pallor  of  her  com- 


"POOK  HUMPTY  DUMPTY!"  5 

plexion  was  shaded  by  her  masses  of  dark-brown  hair, 
which  warmed  into  red  tints  under  the  sunlight. 

Across  the  room  from  her  daughters  and  niece,  enjoy- 
ing the  girls'  happiness  as  she  always  did,  sat  Mrs. 
Wyndham,  rocking  slowly. 

She  was  a  fragile  woman,  still  clad  in  the  mourning 
she  had  worn  for  her  husband  for  seven  years,— a  sweet 
and  gentle  creature,  who,  one  felt  at  once,  had  been  prop- 
erly placed  by  Providence  in  luxury,  and  fortunately 
shielded  from  hardship;  for  the  Wyndhams  were 
wealthy.  The  morning-room  in  the  great  house  on  Mur- 
ray Hill  showed  evidence  of  being  the  spot  where  the 
family  gathered  informally  for  rest  and  recreation;  it 
made  no  attempt  at  special  beauty,  still  it  was  full  of 
countless  little  objects  which  declared  the  long  custom  of 
all  its  inmates  of  purchasing  whatever  struck  their 
fancy,  regardless  of  its  cost  or  subsequent  usefulness. 

The  three  young  girls,  differing  in  many  ways,  were 
alike  in  bearing  the  stamp  of  having  spent  their  short 
lives  among  luxurious  surroundings,  shielded  from  the 
cradle  against  the  sharp  buffets  of  common  experience. 

Even  the  samples  fluttering  under  their  fingers  and  the 
touch  of  the  spring  wind  bore  the  name  of  a  French 
artist  on  Fifth  Avenue  whose  skill  only  the  highly  fa- 
vored could  command,  and  the  consultation  under  way 
was  for  the  selection  for  each  young  girl  of  gowns  fit  for 
a  princess 's  wearing,  yet  intended  for  the  use  of  maidens 
not  yet  "out,"  in  the  hops  at  the  hotel  at  Bar  Harbor 
in  the  coming  summer. 


6  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"Madrina,  do  you  care  which  we  choose?"  asked  Bab, 
jumping  up  in  a  shower  of  samples  which  flew  in  all 
directions  at  her  sudden  movement,  and  running  over  to 
hug  her  pale  mother.  Jessamy  said  Bab  was  "subject 
to  irruptions  of  affection." 

"Not  in  the  least;  the  samples  are  all  bewilderingly 
pretty.  I  only  ask  to  have  a  voice  in  selecting  the  style 
of  the  gown.  Madame  Alouette  and  I  sometimes  differ 
as  to  what  is  suitable, ' '  replied  Mrs.  Wyndham,  when  she 
had  caught  her  breath. 

"Do  you  remember  the  elaborate  lace  she  used  on 
Jessamy 's  dimity  last  year,  auntie?"  laughed  Phyllis, 
on  her  knees  collecting  the  samples  Bab  had  scattered. 

Jessamy  rose  slowly,  gently  putting  together  the  bits 
of  soap-bubble-tinted  gauzes  on  her  knee;  her  fingers 
stroked  them  reluctantly,  as  if  unwilling  to  part  from 
them.  "I  am  afraid  I  am  dreadfully  vain,"  she  said, 
"though  I  hope  I  am  only  artistic.  I  am  not  sure 
whether  I  love  exquisite  things  for  their  own  sake  or 
because  I  want  them  for  myself,  but  these  lovely  fabrics 
go  to  my  very  heart.  I  hate  cheapness  to  an  extent  that 
I  am  ashamed  of,  and  I  certainly  always  have  an  in- 
stinct for  the  most  expensive  articles  in  the  shops, 
though  I  never  think  of  the  price." 

"I  am  sure  it  is  because  you  're  artistic,  Amy,"  said 
Phyllis,  coming  up  flushed  from  under  an  arm-chair. 
"You  do  like  fine  things  for  yourself,  but  it  's  just  as 
you  want  only  good  pictures  in  your  room.  You  crave 
beauty,  and  you  're  born  royal  in  taste.  If  we  were  all 


"POOR  HUMPTY  DUMPTY!"  9 

beggared,  Bab  and  I  could  get  on;  for  while  I  love 
beauty  too,  it  's  not  with  your  love  for  it.  Besides, 
I  could  be  happy  in  a  tenement  if  we  were  together,  and 
Bab  would  revel  in  a  sunbonnet  and  driving  the  cows 
home.  But  you  're  a  princess,  and  you  can't  be  any- 
thing else:  noblesse  oblige,  you  know,  means,  in  your 
case,  'obliged  to  be  noble.'  ' 

"You  're  a  bad  Phyl,  whose  object  in  life  is  to  ruin 
people  by  making  them  perfectly  self-satisfied,"  said 
Jessamy.  "I  only  hope  some  of  the  excuses  you  find 
for  me  are  true.  I  'm  as  luxurious  in  nature  as  a  cat. 
I  know  that.  Come  to  the  window;  I  want  to  see  this 
old  rose  in  the  sunlight. ' ' 

Bab  stopped  swinging  her  feet,  and  slipped  from  the 
arm  of  her  mother's  chair,  where  she  had  been  perch- 
ing, to  follow  them.  "Don't  you  abuse  cats,  nor  my 
sister  Jessamy,  miss, ' '  she  said,  putting  her  arm  around 
slender  Jessamy  and  peering  over  her  shoulder  at  the 
sample  of  old-rose  silk,  while  she  rubbed  Jessamy 's  arm 
with  her  chin  like  an  affectionate  dog.  "They  're  two 
as  nice  things  as  I  know.  Madrina,  I  see  Mr.  Hurd  com- 
ing across  the  street;  he  's  headed  this  way." 

"Oh,  dear!"  sighed  Mrs.  Wyndham,  almost  fretfully; 
"I  suppose  he  is  coming  to  talk  business  again.  He  has 
been  tormenting  me  all  winter  to  withdraw  my  money 
from  the  corporation;  you  know,  he  thinks  it  is  n't 
secure.  I  am  sure  I  cannot  see  why— do  you,  Jessamy 
and  Phyllis?  You  are  as  good  business  women  as  I  am. 
Don't  leave  me  when  he  comes  to-day;  I  should  like  to 


10  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

have  you  hear  his  arguments.  Young  as  you  are,  you 
can  understand  quite  as  well  as  I  do.  He  says  I  ought 
to  sell  my  stock,  or  enough  to  secure  us  against  misfor- 
tune, but  I  cannot  get  as  high  interest  elsewhere,  and  it 
is  safe." 

"He— you  said  Mr.  Kurd  thinks  it  is  n't  safe,  did  n't 
you,  mama  1 ' '  asked  Jessamy,  turning  from  the  window. 

"But  that  is  ridiculous!  Your  poor  father's  partner 
is  at  the  helm,  and  your  father  always  said  he  was  both 
clever  and  unimpeachable;  he  trusted  him  like  him- 
self," said  Mrs.  Wyndham.  "It  is  all  because  they 
won't  show  the  books  lately — as  though  I  wanted  to  see 
the  books,  or  minded  if  Mr.  Hurd  did  not,  as  long  as 
Mr.  Abbott  is  managing!  I  cannot  see  why  Mr.  Hurd 
is  so  nervous;  he  has  talked  hours  to  me  since  last  fall, 
and  yet  I  don't  see.  I  will  not  put  our  stock  on  the 
market — in  the  market— what  is  the  right  word?— and 
shake  public  confidence,  flood  the  market — inflate  it — 
oh,  I  cannot  remember  terms!  And  Mr.  Abbott  wrote 
me,  and  came  especially  to  see  me  in  March  to  say  that 
would  be  the  effect  of  my  offering  my  bonds  or  stock 
now.  I  understand  him  much  better  than  Mr.  Hurd; 
he  is  more  patient,  and  won't  leave  his  point  until  I 
have  mastered  it.  He  said  industrial  stock  was  different 
from — from — the  other  kind.  He  said  one  must  not  bear 
the  market  on  one's  own  stock,  but  must  bull  it.  That 
means,  in  their  queer  terms,  not  depress  it,  but  force 
things  upward,  which  is,  of  course,  what  one  would  want 
to  do  with  one's  own  values.  You  stay  in  the  room  to- 


"POOR  HUMPTY  DUMPTY!"  11 

day,  children,  and  see  if  you  understand.  Mr.  Hurd 
insists  I  am  risking  beggaring  you,  and  that  distresses 
me  unspeakably." 

"Don't  mind  Mr.  Hurd,  Madrina;  he  's  an  anx- 
ious attorney,  that  's  all,"  said  Barbara,  with  an  air  of 
lucidity. 

"But  one  has  to  heed  one's  attorney,  daughter,"  said 
her  mother,  half  smiling.  "Only  I  can't  turn  my  back 
on  my  dear  husband 's  business,  which  he  brought  to  such 
splendid  success,  and  sell  out  Wyndham  Iron  Company 
stock  as  if  we  were  n't  Wyndhams,  but  outsiders." 

"Mr.  Hurd,  ma'am,"  said  Violet,  the  black  maid,  ex- 
tending a  card  in  one  hand,  while  the  other  twisted  her 
apron-string  nervously;  she  had  caught  alarm  from  a 
glance  at  the  visitor's  face. 

"Bring  him  here,  Violet.  Mr.  Hurd  will  pardon 
feminine  confusion,"  Mrs.  Wyndham  added,  rising  and 
pointing  to  the  samples  on  the  couch  with  her  extended 
hand,  for  the  lawyer  had  followed  the  maid  without 
delay.  "We  are  pluming,  or  more  properly  donning, 
our  feathers  for  flight,  Mr.  Hurd." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  little  man,  shaking  hands,  with- 
out looking  at  Mrs.  Wyndham.  "Good  morning,  Miss 
Jessamy;  good  morning,  Phyllis;  how  do  you  do,  little 
Barbara?  May  I  interrupt  your —  Gracious  powers! 
dear  madam,  I  mean  I  must  interrupt  your  plans,  Mrs. 
Wyndham." 

Jessamy  and  Phyllis  clutched  each  other  with  sudden 
pallor;  the  little  lawyer's  voice  shook  with  emotion.  Bab 


12  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

flushed  and  ran  to  her  mother,  putting  her  arms  around 
her  frail  figure  as  though  to  place  herself  as  a  bulwark 
between  her  and  ill. 

"You  will  not  interrupt  anything  more  important 
than  the  selection  of  dancing-gowns  for  the  children," 
said  Mrs.  Wyndham,  with  her  soft  dignity,  though  she 
turned  a  little  paler.  "Is  there  any  special  reason  for 
your  visit— kind  visit  always— Mr.  Kurd  ?  And  may  the 
girls  hear  what  you  have  to  say,  since  their  interests  are 
at  stake?" 

"Special  reason,  madam?  Special,  indeed!  God  help 
me,  I  don't  know  how  to  say  what  I  have  to  say,  but  I 
prefer  the  young  ladies  to  hear  it.  You  remember,  I  have 
urged  their  presence  at  our  previous  conferences,  but 
you  considered  them  too  young  to  be  troubled—  Poor 
chicks!"  he  added  suddenly. 

"Evidently  you  feel  that  you  have  something  un- 
pleasant to  tell  me,  Mr.  Hurd;  but  I  feel  sure  you  ex- 
aggerate; you  know,  you  are  always  more  timid  and 
pessimistic  than  I,"  said  Mrs.  Wyndham,  dropping  into 
the  nearest  chair  and  trying  to  smile. 

"Good  heavens,  Mrs.  Wyndham!  It  is  n't  a  matter 
for  self-gratulation.  If  I  could  have  made  you  listen 
to  me  six — even  two— months  ago,  I  should  not  be  here 
to-day,  the  bearer  of  such  dreadful  news, ' '  burst  out  the 
lawyer,  impatiently. 

"Would  n't  it  be  better,  Mr.  Hurd,  to  tell  us  quickly? 
You  frighten  us  with  hints,"  said  Jessamy,  in  her  sil- 
very, even  voice ;  but  the  poor  child 's  lips  were  white. 


"POOK  HUMPTY  DUMPTY!"  13 

Mr.  Kurd  glanced  at  Jessamy.  "Yes,"  he  said;  "but 
it  is  not  easy.  I  heard  the  definite  news  last  night  in 
Wall  Street ;  rumors  had  been  afloat  for  days.  I  wanted 
to  give  you  one  more  night  of  untroubled  sleep.  It 
will  be  in  the  papers  this  evening. ' ' 

"What  will,  Mr.  Hurd?"  burst  out  Barbara,  impa- 
tiently. 

' '  The  failure  of  the  Wyndham  Iron  Company. ' ' 

There  was  dead  silence  in  the  room,  broken  only  by 
the  low-toned  little  French  clock  striking  ten  times. 

"The  company— failed?"  whispered  Mrs.  Wyndham, 
trying  to  find  her  voice. 

"What  does  that  mean,  Mr.  Hurd?"  asked  Phyllis. 

"It  means  that  your  mother's  bonds  and  stocks  are 
valueless ;  and  as  she  holds  everything  in  her  own  right 
and  has  kept  all  that  your  father  left  in  the  business, 
it  means  that  your  inheritance  has  been  wiped  out  of 
existence,"  said  the  lawyer,  not  discriminating  between 
the  daughters  and  the  niece  in  his  excitement. 

"How  can  it  be — total  ruin?"  asked  poor  Mrs.  Wynd- 
ham. "Henry  gone  but  seven  years,  and  such  a  splen- 
did success  as  he  left  the  company!  How  can  it  have 
failed?  I  don't  believe  it!"  she  cried,  starting  to  her 
feet  with  sudden  strength. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Wyndham,  it  is  too  certain,"  said  her 
husband's  old  friend  and  attorney,  gently.  "When  they 
refused  to  open  up  the  books  for  inspection,  and  you 
would  not  authorize  me  to  take  steps  to  compel  them  to 
do  so,  I  knew  this  would  come. ' ' 


14  THE  WYNDHAM  GIEL8 

"Mr.  Abbott—"  began  Mrs.  Wyndham. 

"Mr.  Abbott  is  an  outrageous  villain,"  interrupted 
Mr.  Hurd,  passionately.  "I  have  lain  awake  all  night 
cursing  him,  or  I  could  not  mention  him  before  you 
without  swearing.  He  has  got  control  of  the  corporation 
by  holding  the  majority  of  stock,  and  he  has  run  the 
thing  on  a  speculative  basis  instead  of  a  solid  business 
one.  At  the  same  time,  justice  to  his  business  capacity 
compels  me  to  add  that  he  has  kept  himself  clear  of  pos- 
sible failure,  using  the  stockholders'  funds  and  not  his 
own  for  his  operations,  so  that  though  you  and  others 
are  ruined,  he  is  safe.  I  shall  never  be  able  to  make 
you  understand  the  case  more  fully ;  but  that  is  the  sum 
of  it,  and  he  's  a  consummate  rogue." 

"But  Henry  trusted  him — "  essayed  Mrs.  Wyndham 
once  more. 

"Henry  Wyndham  was  an  honest  man,  and  a  good 
friend.  He  is  not  the  first  who  has  been  deceived  in  his 
estimate  of  a  man.  That  is  all  to  be  said  on  that  score, ' ' 
said  the  little  lawyer,  grimly. 

"I  never  knew  any  one  who  was  ruined,  outside  of 
books,"  said  Jessamy,  trying  to  smile.  "What  does  it 
mean  ?  Going  to  live  in  an  East-side  tenement,  and  work- 
ing in  a  sweat-shop  1 ' ' 

"Nonsense,  Jessamy!"  said  her  mother,  sharply,  dry- 
ing her  tears,  which  had  been  softly  falling,  while  Bab 
burst  into  wailing  at  the  picture.  "Nonsense!  I  shall 
sell  some  stock,  and  I  am  sure  that  we  shall  get  on  very 
well— perhaps  economizing  somewhat." 


"POOR  HUMPTY  DUMPTY!"  15 

"Dear  madam,  you  no  more  grasp  the  situation  than 
you  saw  it  coming,"  said  Mr.  Hurd,  struggling  between 
annoyance  and  pity.  ' '  Your  preferred  stock  might  bring 
five  cents,  and  the  common  stock  three,  but  I  doubt  it; 
their  value  is  wiped  out.  Practically,  you  have  no  stock. 
Still,  I  hope  the  situation  will  not  be  as  grave  as  Miss 
Jessamy  pictures.  You  will  have  an  income  greater  than 
enough  to  give  you  comfort,  though  by  comparison  you 
will  be  poor.  You  cannot  stay  in  this  house,  for  it 
alone,  and  its  contents,  must  furnish  your  income.  But 
it  will  rent  or  sell  at  a  figure  to  insure  you  six  to  eight 
thousand  a  year ;  and  if  you  sell  your  pictures  and  some 
of  the  furniture  you  will  have  a  very  respectable  prin- 
cipal to  live  upon.  Bad  as  it  is,  your  case  might  be  far 
worse." 

"Do  you  mean  that  this  house  will  be  the  sole— ac- 
tually the  sole— source  of  income  left  me?"  gasped  Mrs. 
Wyndham,  with  more  agitation  than  she  had  yet  shown. 

Mr.  Hurd  nodded.  The  poor  lady  uttered  a  sharp 
cry  and  fell  back,  sobbing  wildly.  "Then  I  have  noth- 
ing—nothing!" she  screamed.  "My  darlings  are  beg- 
gared ! ' ' 

Phyllis  rang  for  wine,  and  Mr.  Hurd  leaped  to  his 
feet  with  apprehension  of  the  truth. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Wyndham?"  he  demanded. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  rested  her  head  on  Phyllis 's  arm  and 
drank  the  wine  she  held  to  her  lips. 

"Last  March,"  she  began  feebly,  "Mr.  AbHott  came 
to  me  and  explained— or  seemed  to  explain— matters  to 


16  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

me.  At  that  time  he  told  me  he  had  bought  iron  for 
the  works  as  a  speculation,  expecting  it  to  appreciate  in 
value.  Instead  it  fell,  and  the  business  was  temporarily 
embarrassed  in  consequence.  He  asked  me  to  let  him 
negotiate  a  loan  with  this  house  as  security." 

Mr.  Hurd,  who  had  been  pacing  the  floor  furiously, 
stopped  short,  with  a  fervent  imprecation.  Halting  be- 
fore the  feeble  creature  who  had  been  so  duped,  he  thrust 
his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets  and  gazed  down  on  her. 
"And  you  did  it?"  he  growled. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  bowed  her  head  lower.  "It  was  a 
mere  formality,  he  said.  The  business  needed  but  to 
be  tided  over  its  present  embarrassment,  which  the  ready 
money  thus  raised  would  do,  and  then  the  loan  would  be 
paid  and  the  house  stand  as  free  as  before.  So  I  gave 
it  as  security. ' ' 

"Just  heaven!  Why  did  n't  Henry  leave  everything 
in  trust  for  you  in  the  hands  of  a  decent  man!"  cried 
Mr.  Hurd,  furiously.  "To  trick  a  woman,  and  such  a 
guileless  woman  as  you,  like  that!  The  miserable,  cur- 
rish scamp!  Why  did  n't  you  mention  this  to  me, 
madam  ? ' ' 

"Because  Mr.  Abbott  begged  me  not  to;  he  said  none 
but  ourselves,  partners  in  the  concern,  stockholders  of 
the  corporation,  should  know  of  it,  or  it  might  make  the 
stock  panicky— I  am  sure  he  said  panicky,"  murmured 
the  wretched  woman. 

"Then  I  am  afraid  Miss  Jessamy's  picture  is  not  so 
overdrawn,"  groaned  the  lawyer.  "You  will  have  no 


"POOR  HUMPTY  DUMPTYt"  17 

principal  except  what  the  personal  property,  the  furni- 
ture and  the  pictures  will  bring." 

"And  I  have  ruined  my  children— my  dear,  blessed, 
pretty  girls,  for  whom  I  would  gladly  die,  and  whose 
father  was  so  happy  to  feel  that  he  had  secured  them 
from  the  hard  side  of  life !  He  knew  in  his  youth  what 
privation  meant— my  dear,  good  Henry.  Oh,  I  can't 
bear  it !  I  won 't  have  it  so !  It  is  n  't  true ! ' '  And  Mrs. 
Wyndham  went  off  into  hysterical  cries,  which  ended 
all  possibility  of  further  discussion. 

Jessamy  ran  to  call  Violet  to  help  her  mother  to  her 
room;  Bab  lay  on  the  floor,  a  collapsed  heap  of  misery, 
sobbing  in  terror  of  her  mother's  agony  and  the  afflic- 
tion, dimly  understood,  which  had  fallen  on  them  in  the 
midst  of  the  dainty  fabrics  and  happy  plans.  But 
Phyllis,  trembling  and  white,  yet  calm,  laid  her  cold 
hands  on  her  aunt  and  gently  forced  her  into  quiet. 
She  lifted  her  eyes,  no  longer  blue,  but  jet  black,  with 
their  dilated  pupils  blazing  with  righteous  wrath,  to 
Mr.  Kurd's  face.  "Is  there  no  law  to  make  that  villain 
give  up  what  he  stole?"  she  demanded  fiercely. 

The  lawyer  looked  at  her  with  the  good  fighter's  quick 
recognition  of  the  same  quality  in  another.  "I  '11  try 
mighty  hard  to  find  it,  Phyllis,"  he  said.  "The  trouble 
is  that  a  consummate  rogue  knows  how  to  cover  his 
tracks.  He  has  undoubtedly  put  everything  out  of  his 
hands.  But  we  '11  make  him  show  when  it  was  done; 
and  if  he  has  taken  such  steps  this  winter  past,  we  can 
force  him  to  disgorge.  There  is  one  comfort :  I  '11  make 


18  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

New  York  a  confoundedly  unpleasant  place  for  him  to 
try  to  do  business  in." 

Kind  Violet,  with  her  black  face  gray  from  sympathy 
and  fright,  came  back  with  Jessamy,  and  put  her  strong 
arms  around  her  mistress's  fragile  body,  lifting  her  like 
a  baby.  "Come  right  along,  you  po'  little  lamb  lady," 
she  said.  "Miss  Jes'my  telephone  for  doctoh,  an'  I  'm 
goin'  make  you  quiet  an'  comf'able  in  bed.  Don'  you 
cry  'notlieh  teah;  Vi'let  ain't  goin'  let  nothin'  come  neah 
you." 

Utterly  exhausted  in  mind  and  body,  Mrs.  Wyndham 
found  comfort  in  the  soft  voice  and  loving  arms.  She 
drooped  her  head  on  the  pink  gingham  shoulder  of  the 
tall  girl,  and  let  herself  be  carried  away  to  her  chamber 
as  if  she  had  been  a  child. 

Jessamy  turned  to  Mr.  Hurd.  ' '  You  will  not  mind  if 
we  received  the  news  rather  badly,"  she  said.  "We 
shall  all  do  our  parts  when  we  have  learned  them.  It- 
it — came  rather  suddenly,  you  see."  Evidently  Jessamy 
was  going  to  be  the  princess  her  cousin  called  her,  and 
meet  misfortune  proudly. 

"You  dear  child,"  said  the  lawyer,  his  eyes  softening 
and  dimming  as  he  looked  in  the  pretty  face,  blanched 
white,  and  noted  the  lines  holding  the  soft  lips  grimly 
set  to  keep  them  from  quivering.  "You  are  little  hero- 
ines—you and  Phyllis.  Don't  try  to  be  too  brave;  it  is 
better  to  cry,  and  then  wipe  away  the  tears  to  see  what 
is  to  be  done  after  the  shipwreck. ' ' 

"There  is  only  one  thing  I  want  to  ask  you  now,  Mr. 


"POOR  HUMPTY  DUMPTY!"  19 

Hurd ;  then,  perhaps,  we  would  better  not  talk  any  more 
to-day:  What  are  we  likely  to  have  to  live  on  if  we  sell 
our  things?"  asked  Jessamy. 

"You  know  it  is  guesswork;  no  one  can  more  than 
approximate  the  result  of  sales,"  answered  Mr.  Hurd. 
"Your  father  knew  good  pictures,  and  there  are  many 
of  considerable  value  here,  but  summer  is  no  time  to 
offer  them.  I  should  say  you  were  likely  to  have  re- 
turns of  about  thirty  thousand  dollars,  which,  if  I  in- 
vest it  at  six  per  cent.,  will  give  you  nearly  two  thousand 
a  year.  Now,  good-by,  my  dears,  for  this  morning. 
Try  not  to  grieve ;  no  one  knows  what  is  best  for  him  in 
this  curious  world,  and  the  day  may  come  when  you 
will  be  grateful  for  this  change  of  fortune.  People  are 
usually  better  and  stronger  for  trying  their  mettle  as 
well  as  their  muscle.  God  bless  you. ' ' 

Jessamy  did  not  attempt  to  answer.  Mr.  Hurd  laid 
his  hand  gently  on  each  head,  and  went  away. 

Left  to  themselves,  Jessamy  and  Phyllis  looked  at 
each  other  and  around  the  pretty  room,  with  the  couch 
still  strewn  with  the  samples  for  their  dancing-gowns; 
the  books,  pictures,  ornaments  they  had  bought  scat- 
tered everywhere.  With  a  sudden  rush  of  memory,  they 
saw  themselves  little  children,  playing  about  their  kind 
father — for  he  had  been  father  to  them  both — in  that 
very  room,  and  with  equal  clearness  saw  the  years 
before  them  in  which  this  beautiful  home  had  no  being, 
but,  instead,  privations  more  awful  to  their  imaginations 
because  they  had  no  clue  to  their  actual  meaning. 


20  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

The  necessity  for  self-restraint  being  removed,  with  a 
common  impulse  Jessamy  and  Phyllis  turned,  and, 
throwing  their  arms  around  each  other,  burst  into  pas- 
sionate weeping— the  despairing  weeping  of  youth  which 
has  not  yet  learned  that  nothing  on  earth  is  final. 

Bab  stirred  uneasily  and  sat  up  on  the  floor,  wiping 
her  own  eyes  and  trying  to  smile.  "Don't  cry  like  that, 
girls;  please  don't,"  she  said.  "It  does  n't  matter  so 
much  about  me,  because  I  always  go  off.  one  way  or  the 
other,  but  I  can't  stand  it  if  you  are  wretched."  She 
gathered  herself  up,  and  went  slowly  over  to  the  others. 
"We  're  young  and  beautiful,"  she  said,  "and  we  have 
some  few  brains;  we  '11  make  another  fortune  for  our- 
selves. I  think,  perhaps,  I  '11  marry  an  oil  man  with 
millions.  Smile — for  mercy's  sake  smile— Jess  and 
Phyl!" 

But  Jessamy  and  Phyllis,  who  had  controlled  them- 
selves while  Bab  sobbed,  could  not  raise  their  heads. 

Bab  was  mercurial— always,  as  she  herself  put  it, 
"going  off"  to  extremes.  She  had  cried  her  first  terror 
away,  and  now  the  necessity  of  her  nature  to  look  on 
the  bright  side  and  find  something  funny  in  all  situ- 
ations began  to  assert  itself. 

"I  think  likely  two  thousand  a  year  will  be  a  lot  when 
we  get  used  to  it,  though  it  costs  that  to  clothe  us  all 
now,  I  suppose.  I  expect  to  learn  to  manage  so  well  that 
we  can  adopt  twins  on  the  money  we  have  left  over.  I 
shall  go  to  get  points  from  Ruth  Wells ;  I  always  thought 
she  was  splendid,  and  longed  to  know  her;  she  under- 


"POOB  HUMPTY  DUMPTY!"  21 

stands  how  to  make  every  quarter  a  half-dollar.  Now, 
girls,  we  're  going  to  be  like  the  people  in  the  story-books, 
and  learn  who  are  our  true  friends— don't  you  know 
how  misfortune  always  tests  them?  Look  up— smile! 
'Rise,  Sally,  rise;  dry  your  weeping  eyes!'  ' 

''Don't,  Bab,"  murmured  Jessamy,  faintly.  "You 
have  n't  an  idea  of  what  has  really  happened."  But  she 
raised  her  head,  and  attempted  to  check  her  tears  as  she 
spoke. 

Bab  saw  it  with  secret  triumph ;  she  was  actually  talk- 
ing herself  into  something  like  cheerfulness.  "Don't 
I !  I  have  quite  as  much  experience  as  you,  miss,  any- 
way. Still,  I  'm  willing  to  confess  I  'd  rather  not  be 
poor,"  she  added,  with  the  air  of  making  a  generous 
concession.  "But  I  feel  sure  we  '11  be  happy  yet,  be- 
cause I,  for  one,  have  got  to  be.  But  it  is  rather  hard 
to  get  thrown  off  your  high  wall  when  you  've  sat  on  it 
all  your  life.  Poor  Humpty  Dumpty!  I  never  prop- 
erly felt  for  him  before. ' ' 

And  Bab  was  rewarded  for  her  nonsense  by  a  tearful 
smile  from  Jessamy  and  Phyllis. 


CHAPTER  II 


FRIENDS,    COUNSELORS,    AND   PLANS 

HE  evening  turned  cool  and  damp,  with 
the  unreliability  of  May.  Mrs.  Wynd- 
ham  was  too  ill  to  rise ;  the  doctor  had 
given  her  sedatives,  and  she  slept  in 
utter  exhaustion.  Jessamy,  Phyllis, 
and  Barbara  dined  lightly  alone;  no 
one  had  any  desire  for  food,  although  the  cook  sent  up 
the  dishes  dearest  to  each  young  palate,  hoping  to  tempt 
her  young  ladies  to  forget  sorrow  enough  to  eat.  But 
this  very  kindness  on  the  part  of  Sally  below  stairs,  com- 
bined with  Violet's  positively  tragic  efforts  to  be  cheer- 
ful while  she  served  them,  brought  sobs  into  the  three 
throats,  and  defeated  the  end  of  their  good  will. 

After  dinner  the  three  girls  carried  their  burdens  to 
Jessamy 's  room,  where  an  acceptable  wood  fire  was  burn- 
ing. The  great  house  was  amply  large  enough  to  afford 
a  room  for  each  of  the  young  Wyndhams  to  occupy 
unshared.  Phyllis 's  and  Bab's  were  on  the  third  floor, 
connected  by  dressing-rooms;  Jessamy 's  was  next  her 
mother's,  over  the  dining-room,  on  the  second.  Each 


PEIENDS,  COUNSELOES,  AND  PLANS  23 

room  expressed,  as  rooms  always  do,  the  character  of 
its  occupant.  Phyllis 's  was  cheery,  yet  beautiful,  with 
simple  elegance  and  plenty  of  space.  Her  pictures 
were  good,  but  not  all  the  very  highest  art;  "literary 
pictures,"  those  which  told  a  story,  were  not  lacking, 
and  many  of  the  photographs,  abounding  everywhere, 
were  portraits  of  literary  people.  The  room  was  lined 
with  low  bookcases,  and  books  crowded  the  tables  and 
the  desk. 

Barbara's  room  was  an  anomaly.  Bright  Eastern  col- 
ors gave  the  general  effect  of  a  field  of  poppies  on  enter- 
ing. Pictures  of  animals,  casts  of  Barye's  splendid 
beasts  abounded,  with  Luca  della  Robbia's  happy  cher- 
ubs, and  a  copy  of  Diirer's  portrait  of  Stephan  Paum- 
gartner,  and  Rembrandt's  "Lesson  in  Anatomy"  to 
prove  how  many-sided  little  Bab  was  thus  far  in  her 
development.  A  small  upright  piano,  with  a  guitar  and 
mandolin  lying  on  its  top,  between  busts  of  Paderewski 
and  Beethoven,  testified  truly  that  she  was  the  most 
musical  girl  of  the  three. 

Jessamy's  room  was  all  soft  greens  and  moss  browns 
as  to  color.  Her  pictures  were  chosen  for  beauty  alone, 
and  that  of  the  highest  sort.  Copies  of  Botticelli 's  ' '  Tri- 
umph of  Spring,"  his  lovely  Madonna  in  the  National 
Gallery,  some  of  Holbein's  glorious  portraits,  two  Co- 
rots,  Carpaccio's  "Dream  of  St.  Ursula,"  Donatello 
casts,  as  well  as  antiques,  demonstrated  at  a  glance  that 
the  eye  of  an  artist  had  chosen  them  to  rest  upon.  But, 
revealing  the  corresponding  side  of  Jessamy's  nature, 


24  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

were  softest  down  cushions  heaped  on  a  divan,  dainty 
toilet  accessories  in  ivory  and  gold,  carved  chairs  of 
slumbrous  depths,  flowers  in  delicate  green  Venetian 
glasses,  and,  above  all,  volumes  of  poems,  with  Thomas 
a  Kempis  and  the  "Celestial  City"  on  the  stand  nearest 
the  bed;  for  Jessamy  loved  perfect  beauty,  and  turned 
naturally  to  its  highest  ideals  and  expression. 

Into  this  half -studio,  half -chamber,  and  wholly  beau- 
tiful room  the  three  girls  crept  after  dinner,  drawing 
their  chairs  close  to  the  fire  and  speaking  softly,  not  to 
disturb  Mrs.  Wyndham  in  the  next  room. 

"The  only  thing  for  us  to  do  is  to  find  out  what  we 
can  live  on,  and  then  make  our  plans.  If  we  have  n't 
quite  enough  money,  we  must  earn  it  in  some  way," 
said  Jessamy,  with  her  most  mature  and  responsible  air. 

' '  I  think  the  very  first  thing  of  all  is  to  find  out  what 
that  income  will  be,  and  Mr.  Hurd  says  we  can't  know 
positively  until  after  the  sale,"  said  practical  Phyllis. 
"And  the  next  and  most  awful  thing  is  to  find  out  what 
we  can  do.  I  doubt  if  we  know  anything  thoroughly 
enough  to  earn  money  by  it." 

"Do?  Why,  we  '11  do  anything!"  cried  Bab.  "Jes- 
samy draws  and  paints  beautifully,  you  are  all  kinds 
of  a  genius,  and  I— oh,  there  are  lots  of  things  I  could 
do  if  I  tried.  Some  girls  make  ever  so  much  money; 
I  'm  sure  we  sha'n't  have  any  trouble  when  we  are 
once  started." 

"We  have  some  talents  between  us,  but  I  am  afraid 
they  're  trained  only  well  enough  for  the  admiration  of 


FBIENDS,  COUNSELOES,  AND  PLANS  25 

ourselves  and  our  friends ;  when  it  comes  to  getting  some- 
thing more  solid  than  flattery  for  our  cleverness — well, 
I  'm  afraid!  I  can't  help  seeing  that  Jessamy's  work, 
though  it  is  talented,  is  amateurish.  Bab  plays,  and 
burns  things  with  her  pokers,  to  our  delight;  but  she 
can't  play  like  a  person  who  has  been  grinding  at  music 
in  earnest  six  or  eight  hours  a  day.  And  as  to  me,  when 
I  write  a  story  you  think  it  is  great,  but  I  see  it  lacks 
something.  It  may  be  correct  English  and  a  good  idea, 
but  it  is  not  worth  money  because  of  the  thing  that  is  n't 
in  it;  and  I  suspect  that  quality  is  the  mark  of  training 
and  experience,"  said  Phyllis,  sadly. 

' '  I  don 't  see  why  you  try  to  discourage  us,  Phyl, ' '  said 
Bab,  in  an  aggrieved  tone.  ' '  I  think  we  ought  to  bolster 
each  other  up." 

"And  I  think  we  ought  to  face  facts,  and  that  as  soon 
as  we  can,"  said  Phyllis,  firmly.  "We  've  lived  so  far 
in  a  dream.  I  've  been  thinking  hard  all  the  afternoon, 
and  I  've  realized  how  cruel  such  cases  as  ours  are. 
There  was  auntie,  left  with  great  wealth  and  no  more 
business  knowledge  than  a  baby.  And  here  are  we,  three 
girls  with  brains  enough  to  be  useful  and  enough  money 
to  have  had  a  practical  training  in  some  direction,  no 
more  ready  to  meet  emergencies  than  so  many  kittens. 
We  could  n't  compete  with  tenement-house  girls,  with  all 
our  advantages  and  their  drawbacks." 

"Phyllis  is  right,"  said  Jessamy,  with  conviction. 
"Still,  we  must  compete  if  we  must." 

"She  is  not  right;  I   'm  sure  we  can  make  lots  of 


26  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

money  with  no  special  training, ' '  said  Bab,  indignantly. 
" Good  gracious !  There 's 'our  inheritance'!  We  never 
once  thought  of  it!" 

Six  years  before,  an  aunt  of  Mr.  Wyndham,  dying  on 
her  New  Hampshire  farm,  had  left  each  of  her  grand- 
nieces  five  thousand  dollars.  They  had  rather  laughed 
at  it,  and  never  alluded  to  it  save  as  "their  inheritance" ; 
yet  now,  recalled  suddenly  by  Bab,  it  shone  across  their 
path  like  a  ray  of  sunshine.  Taken  from  the  bank  where 
it  lay  and  reinvested  at  higher  interest,  it  would  mate- 
rially help  them  in  an  hour  when  a  thousand  dollars  had 
assumed  new  proportions. 

"Mercy,  yes!  I  quite  forgot  it,"  cried  Jessamy,  her 
face  brightening.  "At  six  per  cent.,  what  would  that 
be  a  year?" 

This  was  too  great  a  mentai  problem  for  these  would- 
be  business  women,  whose  arithmetic  was  that  of  most 
pupils  of  fashionable  schools  for  girls.  Bab  sprang  up 
for  pencil  and  paper.  "Nine  hundred  dollars!"  she 
announced  triumphantly.  "That  is  quite  an  addition 
to  our  fortune,  is  n't  it?" 

"I  suppose  there  is  n't  much  good  in  making  plans," 
said  Jessamy.  "We  've  got  to  trust  Mr.  Hurd  to  guide 
us.  If  we  are  no  use,  as  Phyllis  believes— and  probably 
is  right  in  Relieving— we  had  better  live  quite  poorly 
for  a  while,  and  fit  ourselves  to  do  something  well.  I 
don't  want  to  rush  into  any  kind  of  half -good  employ- 
ment, if  by  self-denial,  perhaps  even  hardship,  at  first, 
we  might  amount  to  something  in  the  end." 


FRIENDS,  COUNSELORS,  AND  PLANS  27 

"Hail  Minerva!"  cried  Phyllis.  "You  '11  be  as  thor- 
oughbred a  working  girl,  if  you  must,  as  you  were  fine 
lady ;  and  that  's  what  I  love  you  for,  Jasmine  blossom. ' ' 

"My  poor,  unfortunate  children,  are  you  sitting  here 
in  the  dark?"  said  a  voice.  "Violet  told  me  I  should 
find  you  up-stairs.  I  saw  that  dreadful  item  in  'The 
Evening  Post.'  Is  it  true?" 

' '  How  do  you  do,  Aunt  Henrietta  ? ' '  said  Jessamy,  ris- 
ing, while  Bab  barely  stifled  a  groan.  "About  the  fail- 
ure? Yes,  I  am  afraid  it  is  quite  true." 

Mrs.  Hewlett  was  Mr.  Wyndham's  aunt;  he  had  been 
her  favorite  nephew  because  he  was  her  namesake.  Her 
nieces  did  not  love  their  great-aunt;  she  had  a  strong 
tendency  to  speak  her  opinions,  if  they  were  unpleasant 
to  the  hearer;  sincerity  and  a  profound  conviction  that 
she  was  infallible  in  judgment  being  Mrs.  Henrietta 
Hewlett's  most  marked  characteristics.  Jessamy,  Phyl- 
lis, and  Barbara  recognized  in  her  coming  an  added 
hardship  at  the  end  of  their  hard  day. 

"I  always  knew  it  would  end  this  way,"  said  Aunt 
Henrietta,  dropping  into  an  easy-chair  and  letting  her 
cloak  slip  to  the  floor  while  she  untied  her  bonnet  strings. 
"Your  mother  has  no  business  ability  whatever.  Poor 
Henry!" 

"Mama  did  not  make  the  iron  company  fail,  aunt; 
and  papa  can't  need  pity  now  as  much  as  she  does," 
said  Bab,  losing  her  temper  instantly,  as  she  always  did 
on  encountering  "the  drum-major,"  as  she  irreverently 
called  her  great-aunt. 


28  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

"How  are  you  left?"  demanded  Aunt  Henrietta, 
ignoring  Bab,  to  Jessamy 's  profound  gratitude. 

"We  shall  have  only  what  the  contents  of  this  house 
will  bring,  besides  the  five  thousand  apiece  left  us  by 
Aunt  Amelia, ' '  said  Jessamy. 

Aunt  Henrietta  held  up  both  hands  in  genuine  horror. 
"My  poor  sister  had  no  notion  that  her  little  legacy 
would  be  your  all,— for  of  course  you  can't  get  anything 
for  second-hand  furniture.  So  you  are  actually  beg- 
gared !  Well,  it  is  even  worse  than  I  expected. ' ' 

"Not  quite  beggars,  aunt,"  said  Phyllis.  "We  expect 
to  have  two  thousand  a  year.  And  if  you  foresaw  Mr. 
Abbott's  dishonesty,  you  are  the  only  one  who  mistrusted 
him.  Uncle  Henry  believed  in  him  as  firmly  as  in  him- 
self. Of  course,  if  you  read  the  papers,  you  know  no  one 
is  to  blame  for  anything,  unless  for  trusting  Mr.  Abbott. ' ' 

"Two  thousand  for  such  a  family  as  you!"  ejacu- 
lated Aunt  Henrietta,  characteristically  passing  over  the 
less  disagreeable  points  in  Phyllis 's  remarks.  "It  is 
practically  beggary.  You  have  been  brought  up  in  the 
most  extravagant  way — never  taught  the  value  of  money. 
Your  mother  has  spoiled  you  from  the  cradle.  I  suppose 
you  will  run  through  what  little  ready  money  you  have, 
and  then  expect  to  be  helped  by  your  friends." 

' '  Really,  Aunt  Henrietta,  I  cannot  see  why  you  assume 
us  entirely  to  lack  common  sense,  principles,  and  pride, ' ' 
said  Jessamy,  struggling  hard  to  keep  her  voice  steady. 
"We  have  already  determined  to  make  our  income  suf- 
fice us,  investing  our  little  capital." 


FEIENDS,  COUNSELORS,  AND  PLANS  29 

"H'm!  Two  thousand  suffice!  You  're  exactly  like 
your  mother— absolutely  unpractical.  If  poor  Henry — ' ' 
began  Mrs.  Hewlett. 

"Now,  Aunt  Henrietta,  just  drop  mama,  if  you 
please,"  said  Barbara,  hotly.  "She  is  the  dearest  mo- 
ther in  the  world,  and  papa  loved  her  with  all  his  heart. 
I  don't  see  what  good  there  can  be  in  trying  to  blame 
some  one  for  this  trouble ;  but  if  any  one  were  to  blame, 
it  was  dear  papa  himself,  and  not  mama,  for  he  left 
her  all  his  wealth  and  all  his  trust  in  Mr.  Abbott, 
and  never  taught  her  the  least  thing  about  business. 
Mama  never  said  nor  did  an  unkind  thing  in  all  her  gen- 
tle life,  and  I  won't  have  her  abused.  And,  in  spite  of 
what  you  say  now,  you  were  always  very  proud  of  her 
lovely  face  and  manners,  and  glad  enough  to  point  out 
your  niece,  Mrs.  Henry  Wyndham.  And  you  've  boasted 
about  all  of  us  while  we  were  rich,  and  now  you  talk  as 
if  this  trouble  was  the  punishment  of  our  sins,  especially 
mama's.  And  I  won't  have  you  mention  her— dear, 
crushed  mama — lying  in  there  heartbroken  for  our 
sakes ! ' ' 

Bab's  cheeks  had  been  getting  redder  and  her  voice 
higher  through  this  speech,  until  at  this  point  she  burst 
into  tempestuous  tears. 

"Hoity-toity,  miss!  Don't  be  impertinent,"  said  the 
old  lady.  ' '  You  '11  be  dependent  on  your  friends '  char- 
ity in  six  months,  and  you  will  be  wise  not  to  offend 
them." 

"I  won't!     I  '11  beg  from  door  to  door  or  be  a  cash- 


30  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

girl  at  Macy's  first,"  sobbed  Bab.  "Besides,  I  'm  not 
impertinent;  I  'm  only  firm." 

The  idea  of  Bab  firm  on  the  verge  of  hysterics  made 
Phyllis  and  Jessamy  smile  faintly.  "Don't  say  any 
more,  Bab;  you  know  it  's  no  use,"  whispered  Phyllis, 
stroking  the  hot  cheek,  while  Jessamy  said:  "You  must 
not  mind  Bab,  aunt.  We  are  all  somewhat  overwrought, 
but  I  agree  with  her  that,  if  you  please,  we  will  leave 
our  mother  out  of  the  discussion. ' ' 

"I  don't  mind  that  flighty  child;  she  never  had  a  par- 
ticle of  stability,  and  has  not  been  taught  self-control 
or  respect,"  said  Aunt  Henrietta,  with  what  in  a  less 
dignified  person  would  have  been  a  sniff.  "What  kind 
of  work  are  you  going  to  take  up?  For  of  course  it  is 
ridiculous  to  talk  of  living  on  two  thousand  a  year,  and 
you  must  earn  your  living." 

"We  have  not  decided  anything  yet,  aunt;  we  've 
had  only  a  few  hours  to  get  used  to  being  poor, ' '  replied 
Phyllis. 

"Well,  I  've  been  considering  your  case,  and  I  don't 
believe  there  is  anything  you  can  do  decently ;  your  edu- 
cation has  been  the  thistle-down  veneer  girls  get  nowa- 
days," said  their  aunt,  disregarding  the  fact  that  she 
would  have  been  still  less  prepared  to  meet  misfortune 
than  her  nieces  at  their  age. 

"Veneer!"  echoed  Jessamy.  "I  hope  not,  though  I 
don't  know  what  thistle-down  veneer  is.  I  would  n't 
mind  being  honest  white  pine,  but  I  should  despise  the 
best  veneer. ' ' 


FEIENDS,  COUNSELOES,  AND  PLANS  31 

"As  far  as  I  can  see,  you  would  do  well  to  go  out  as 
a  nurse  girl.  There  are  many  who  would  be  glad  to 
get  a  young  woman  of  refinement,  and  you  would  be 
treated  nicely  in  a  good  place,"  said  Aunt  Henrietta. 

Bab  gasped.  Phyllis  cried :  "A  nurse  girl !  Jes- 
samy ! ' '  But  Jessamy  turned  white  to  her  lips.  ' '  Will 
you  allow  me  to  sit  on  your  steps  and  sun  my  young 
charge,  if  I  take  care  to  keep  my  aprons  clean?"  she 
asked  slowly,  her  voice  low  and  ominously  steady. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Jessamy,  and  have  high-flown  no- 
tions. Any  work  is  honorable,  and  you  are  not  trained 
to  skilled  labor, ' '  said  her  aunt. 

"All  labor  is  certainly  honorable,  aunt,"  said  Phyl- 
lis, seeing  that  Jessamy  dared  not  speak  again.  "But 
there  are  degrees  in  its  attractiveness.  It  would  Be  short- 
sighted wisdom  to  put  a  talented  creature  like  our  prin- 
cess to  doing  what  the  humblest  emigrant  can  perform, 
wasting  all  her  opportunities.  I  am  afraid  I  cannot 
understand  how  you  could  consent  to  pushing  any  of  us 
down,  instead  of  helping  us  up." 

"We  shall  not  need  help,"  said  Jessamy,  her  head 
up  like  a  young  racer.  "I  hope  to  manage  quite  well 
alone.  Will  you  excuse  us  from  more  of  this  sort  of 
talk,  aunt?  We  have  had  a  hard  day,  and  are  tired." 

Mrs.  Hewlett  rose;  her  eldest  niece  always  overawed 
her,  in  spite  of  her  determination  not  to  mind  what  she 
to  herself  called  ' '  Jessamy 's  affected  airs. ' ' 

"I  felt  sure  I  should  not  find  you  chastened  by  mis- 
fortune," she  said.  "You  should  take  your  downfall 


32  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

in  a  more  Christian  spirit.  I  trust  you  will  heed  me  in 
one  point,  at  least.  Sell  your  best  clothes  and  orna- 
ments. It  will  be  most  unbecoming  if,  in  your  altered 
circumstances,  you  dress  in  articles  bought  for  Henry 
Wyndham's  daughters.  People  will  make  the  most  un- 
kind comments  if  you  do." 

Barbara  had  recovered  by  this  time.  "Are  n't  we  still 
Henry  Wyndham's  daughters,  aunt?"  she  asked  guile- 
lessly. "I  did  n't  realize  parentage  as  well  as  inher- 
itance was  vested  in  the  business.  What  a  calamity  that 
it  failed !  As  to  unkind  remarks,  no  mere  acquaintances 
will  make  them;  all  but  our  relatives  will  understand 
that  we  could  afford  fine  things  when  we  had  them,  and 
that  failure  naturally  did  not  destroy  them.  I  give  you 
fair  warning,  I  mean  to  look  my  best,  whatever  the  rest 
do,  else  I  may  He  defeated  in  my  plan  to  get  back  to 
luxury  by  a  brilliant  marriage." 

"Bab,  how  could  you?"  said  Jessamy,  reproachfully, 
as  their  aunt  disappeared.  "She  will  take  that  for  sol- 
emn truth  and  despise  you.  There  's  no  use  in  making 
her  worse  than  she  is." 

"I  could  n't,  Lady  Jessamy;  nature  is  perfect  in  her 
works.  And  I  '11  tell  you  one  thing  for  your  edification : 
If  I  did  mean  it,  and  did  succeed  in  marrying  for  money, 
so  far  from  despising  me,  she  would  be  proud  of  me, 
and  talk  to  every  one  about  'my  charming  niece,  Bar- 
bara,' "  said  Bab,  venomously. 

"Oh,  don't,  Bab!"  cried  Phyllis,  distressed.  "We  've 
been  poor  only  one  day,  and  here  are  you  growing  bit- 


FRIENDS,  COUNSELORS,  AND  PLANS  33 

ter !  That  's  the  worst  of  this  sort  of  misfortune,  I  feel 
sure  in  advance.  It  shows  people  in  such  a  horrid  light 
that  the  victims  get  cynical  and  nasty.  Do  let  us  keep 
sweet  and  wholesome  through  it  all,  for  if  we  're  that, 
and  have  each  other,  nothing  else  matters  seriously." 

"You  dear  little  saint  Phyllis!"  cried  Bab.  "My 
bitterness  so  far  is  shallow,  so  don't  worry.  You  're 
better  than  bicarbonate  of  soda  to  sweeten  what  Sally 
calls  'a  sour  risin'.'  ' 

An  hour  later  Violet  brought  up  a  note  that  came 
opportunely  to  counteract  the  disagreeable  effect  of  Mrs. 
Hewlett's  visit.  It  was  from  an  old  friend  of  their 
mother,  and  ran  thus : 

"MY  DEAREST  LITTLE  GIRLS :  I  am  not  going  to  bother 
poor  Emily  to-night,  but  I  cannot  sleep  unless  I  write 
you.  I  read  that  horrible  item  in  'The  Sun'  about  the 
Wyndham  Iron  Company,  and  I  am  wretched.  Maybe 
it  will  be  less  bad  than  it  now  seems— I  pray  it  may! 
But  I  want  you  to  realize  that  my  house,  my  love,  are 
entirely  yours.  You  are  all  coming  to  spend  the  summer 
with  me  at  Mount  Desert— there  is  plenty  of  room  in  my 
house— so  that  is  settled.  And  in  the  fall  we  shall  see. 
If  there  is  to  be  a  sale,  I  shall  attend  to  it  myself,  with 
Mr.  Hurd  's  help,  for  I  am  a  good  business  woman.  And 
don't  make  too  heroic  resolves  just  now.  If  you  must 
earn  your  living,  some  of  us  will  see  that  it  is  done  in 
ways  in  which  your  sweetness,  cleverness,  and  delicacy 
will  not  be  wasted.  But  I  should  try  very  hard  not  to 


34  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

be  pushed  out  into  a  world  unfit  for  women  to  fight  in. 
And  don't  forget  how  much  is  left,  how  much  you  are 
blessed  in  yourselves— I  know  you  do  remember  it — 
and  be  sure  you  are  going  to  be  perfectly  happy  again. 
Dear  little  girls,  I  'm  crying  as  I  write,  but  that  is  be- 
cause I  love  you  so  much,  and  am  so  sorry.  We  won't 
let  you  do  anything  too  bitter,  and  I  know  how  splen- 
didly you  are  meeting  trouble,  because  I  know  your  dear, 
good  mother,  and  how  truly  well  you  have  been  taught. 
Tell  my  old  friend  I  am  coming  to  her  in  the  morning— 
to  refuse  me  if  she  likes,  but  I  hope  to  comfort  her. 
Good  night,  my  poor  little  chickens,  out  in  your  first 
storm.  There  is  sunshine  ahead,  but  I  wish  that  I  could 
gather  you  all  under  my  wings. 

"Your  old,  loving  friend, 

"MARY  VAN  ALYN." 

The  girls  cried  on  one  another's  shoulders  after  they 
had  read  this  warm  message,  full  of  loving  comprehen- 
sion of  their  needs  and  natures;  but  they  were  tears 
which  did  them  good  and  sent  them  to  bed  refreshed 
and  comforted. 

In  the  morning  Bab  started  off  early  to  see  Ruth 
"Wells,  as  she  had  planned.  Ruth  was  a  brisk  little  crea- 
ture of  the  same  age  as  Bab,  who  had  been  the  Wynd- 
hams'  schoolmate  for  a  short  time,  but  who  had  met 
with  misfortune  too,  and  had  left  school  and  dropped 
almost  entirely  out  of  their  lives ;  only  Bab  had  kept  up  a 
desultory  friendship  with  her. 


FEIENDS,  COUNSELORS,  AND  PLANS  35 

Ruth  lived  with  her  mother  in  a  little  flat — apartment 
is  too  dignified  a  word — not  far  from  Morningside 
Heights.  She  was  skilful  with  her  needle,  as  at  any 
work  of  her  hands,  and  earned,  by  embroidering  for  two 
wholesale  houses,  enough  to  supplement  sufficiently  an 
income  hardly  large  enough  to  pay  their  low  rent. 

Bab  had  always  wondered  to  find  her  so  blithe  and 
happy;  to-day  she  came  determined  to  solve,  if  possible, 
the  secret  of  her  content. 

As  she  pressed  the  electric  button  under  the  speaking- 
tube  over  which  the  name  "Wells"  shone  on  a  narrow 
strip  of  brass,  the  latch  of  the  front  door  clicked,  and, 
pushing  it  open,  Barbara  mounted  the  three  flights  of 
stairs  and  rang  the  bell  by  the  door  at  their  head. 

Ruth  herself  answered  the  summons,  and  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  pleasure  on  seeing  Bab.  "Oh,  Babbie, 
dear,  it  does  affect  you,  does  n't  it?"  she  cried  at  once. 
' '  I  saw  an  account  of  the  Wyndham  Iron  Works  failure 
in  this  morning's  'Times.'  " 

"It  affects  us  so  much,  Ruth,  that  I  came  up  here  the 
first  thing  to  get  your  advice;  you  have  had  experience 
in  coming  down  in  the  world.  And  I  want  to  say  just 
here,"  Barbara  added,  with  heightened  color,  "that  I 
wish  I  had  been  here  oftener,  and  that  Phyl  and  Jes- 
samy  had  been  with  me.  We  never  realized  how  lonely 
you  must  have  been  at  first."  And  Bab  looked  around 
the  little  parlor  with  new  interest. 

"Oh,  I  was  so  much  younger  than  we  are  now  when 
our  troubles  came  that  it  was  easier  to  bear, ' '  said  Ruth, 


36  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

brightly.  "Besides,  I  never  had  nearly  as  much  as  you 
to  lose.  And  as  to  coming  to  see  me,  you  have  always 
been  a  good  friend,  Bab.  We  lived  too  far  apart  in 
every  sense  to  meet  often.  When  one  is  poor  one  can- 
not be  intimate  with  those  who  are  living  luxuriously; 
it  is  so  stupid  for  those  who  have  fallen  from  past  glo- 
ries to  expect  old  friendships  kept  up,  and  call  old  ac- 
quaintances snobs  when  they  are  not.  It  is  impossible 
for  extremes  to  meet  often  or  agreeably,  for  one  does  n't 
care  to  know  the  very  wealthy ;  they  are  not  half  as  in- 
teresting as  those  whose  faculties  have  been  sharpened — 
they  don't  know  facts,  and  it  is  not  their  fault  that  they 
don't.  Even  you,  Babbie,  have  not  understood  words 
in  the  sense  I  did  when  we  have  talked  lately,  and  I  saw 
it.  Then  a  busy  person  has  n't  time  for  people  who 
don't  know  what  must  means.  It  is  far  nicer  to  have 
friends  who  are  busy  too,  and  don't  waste  precious  time. 
But  goodness !  You  see,  I  talk  just  as  fast  as  ever ;  and 
maybe  you  are  not  going  to  be  poor,  after  all !  Is  the  loss 
as  heavy  as  the  papers  had  it?"  While  Ruth  had  talked 
she  had  gotten  off  Bab's  outer  garments,  and  now  seated 
herself  at  her  embroidery  frame,  while  Bab  drew  a  chair 
in  front  of  it  and  shook  her  head.  ' '  Quite  as  bad ;  worse, 
in  fact,"  she  said,  and  proceeded  to  tell  Ruth  the  whole 
story. 

"Now,  what  I  want  to  know,  Ruth,  is  whether  four 
persons  can  possibly  live  on  two  thousand  a  year— sup- 
posing we  have  that— until  we  can  learn  to  be  useful?" 
she  said  in  conclusion. 


FRIENDS,  COUNSELORS,  AND  PLANS  37 

''Of  course  they  can,"  said  Ruth,  with  cheerful  deci- 
sion ;  she  did  not  seem  to  think  the  case  very  bad.  Tak- 
ing a  pencil  and  paper  from  the  window-sill  at  her  side, 
she  began  to  reckon. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  take  a  little  flat  and  do  your 
own  work  1 ' '  she  asked. 

"Mercy,  no!"  cried  Bab,  in  horror.  "Why,  we  'd 
starve!  We  can't  do  anything;  we  must  board." 

"That  's  a  pity,  for  cheap  boarding  is  unwholesome, 
vulgar,  and  generally  horrid,"  said  Ruth.  "However, 
if  you  must,  you  must;  but  I  'm  sure  you  '11  be  taught 
better.  Mama  and  I  began  that  way,  but  we  were  soon 
cured.  You  can  get  two  rooms,  and  pay— let  's  see- 
two  in  a  room— say  seven  dollars  each— twenty-eight  dol- 
lars a  week.  Twenty-eight  times  fifty-two— fourteen 
hundred  and  fifty-six  dollars  a  year.  That  leaves  you 
five  hundred  for  washing,  clothes,  possible  doctor's  bill, 
and  so  on." 

"Can  we  board  for  seven  dollars  apiece?"  asked  Bab, 
rather  awed  by  Ruth's  businesslike  methods. 

"You  can;  it  will  be  pretty  horrid,  but,  honestly,  I 
would  n't  spend  more  till  you  increase  your  income. 
Your  mother  is  n't  well,  and  you  will  need  extra  dainties 
for  her,  no  matter  where  you  board  nor  what  you  pay. 
Mama  and  I  ran  too  close  to  our  margin  once,  and  then 
she  got  ill.  It  taught  me  a  lesson  I  did  not  forget," 
said  Ruth. 

' '  You  have  Been  very  kind  and  interested,  Ruth ;  and 
you  have  helped  me  a  lot  in  more  than  advice, ' '  said  Bab, 


38  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

rising  to  go.  "I  should  n't  mind  being  poor  if  I  could 
be  like  you." 

"Well,  I  believe  I  have  a  talent  for  poverty;  it  has 
its  good  side,"  laughed  Ruth.  "And  I  '11  tell  you  one 
thing,  Babbie.  Real  troubles  keep  one  from  imagining 
affliction,  and  that  is  no  small  gain.  I  am  happy  because 
I  am  busy,  and  my  mind  is  too  full  of  my  responsibili- 
ties and  cares  to  let  me  worry  over  shadows ;  I  have  n  't 
time  to  consider  how  I  feel,  even;  and  sometimes,  when 
I  suspect  I  might  be  a  tiny  bit  ill  if  I  thought  about  it, 
I  go  to  work  and  drive  it  away.  You  don't  know  what 
a  good  thing  it  is  for  girls  to  have  lots  that  must  be  done. 
Come  see  our  flat,"  added  brave  Ruth,  leading  the  way 
into  a  bedroom  off  the  parlor.  "This  is  mama's  room; 
next  it  is  mine.  Then,  here  is  the  bath-room— you  see, 
it  is  quite  large— for  a  flat!  And  is  n't  this  a  nice  little 
dining-room?  Sunny  too!  And  here  is  the  kitchen. 
Mama,  this  is  Barbara  Wyndham. ' ' 

Mrs.  Wells  was  bending  over  a  double  boiler  set  on 
the  gas-range ;  she  was  plainly  dressed  in  black,  shielded 
by  a  large  apron.  She  lifted  a  sweet,  well-bred  face  to 
smile  at  Bab,  and  held  out  a  delicate,  daintily  formed 
hand  to  greet  her,  with  no  apology  for  her  employment. 
"The  maid's  room  is  our  store-room,  for  we  do  our  own 
work,  with  a  woman  coming  in  to  wash  and  iron  and 
sweep.  Now,  is  n't  this  a  nice  flat?  And  we  pay  only 
twenty-eight  dollars  a  month  for  it!"  cried  Ruth,  tri- 
umphantly. 

Bab  looked  at  the  rooms,  as  they  were  shown  to  her, 


FEIENDS,  COUNSELOES,  AND  PLANS  39 

with  newly  perceptive  eyes.  Everything  was  of  the 
plainest,  yet  so  refined  and  dainty  it  could  but  be  pretty. 
She  began  to  suspect  there  were  many  things  in  life  to 
learn  which  would  not  be  unpleasant  knowledge.  She 
wondered,  coming  from  the  spacious  rooms  of  her  home, 
how  Ruth  and  her  mother  managed  to  move  about  with- 
out seriously  damaging  their  anatomy;  the  chambers, 
with  the  furniture  in  them,  looked  hardly  larger  than  a 
good-sized  napkin. 

But  Ruth  was  so  proud  of  it  all,  so  unconscious  of  any 
defects  in  her  home,  that  Bab  could  only  envy  her, 
though  the  tiny  box  of  a  place  did  look  rather  meager 
in  her  eyes,  and  Ruth  worked  hard  all  day  to  main- 
tain it. 

''Thank  you  again,  Ruth,"  she  said,  as  her  friend 
hugged  her  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  letting  the  pity 
which  she  had  not  dared  express  show  in  the  warmth 
of  the  embrace  and  the  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  kissed 
her.  "I  'm  coming  often,  please,  for  advice  and  cour- 
age. You  have  already  shown  me  that  I  need  not  fear. 
I  suspect  our  first  additional  revenue  will  come  from  the 
sale  of  my  book,  'How  to  be  Happy  Though  Ruined,' 
illustrated  by  Ruth  Wells." 


CHAPTER  III 


WAYS   AND   MEANS 

VENTS  moved  swiftly  for  the  Wynd- 
hams,  impelled  by  the  force  of  neces- 
sity. The  trust  company  that  had 
made  the  loan  to  Mr.  Abbott  which 
had  been  secured  by  Mrs.  Wyndham's 
house,  learning  of  the  failure  of  the 
corporation  and  that  it  was  unable  to  meet  its  indebted- 
ness, fell  back  on  its  security,  and  seized  the  house  so 
unfortunately  pledged  to  it. 

Although  Mrs.  Wyndham  was  prepared  for  this  in- 
evitable result  of  her  fatal  confidence  in  Mr.  Abbott,  it 
came  upon  her  like  a  bewildering  blow  that  her  house 
was  hers  no  longer.  This,  and  the  fact  that  the  expense 
of  running  such  an  immense  establishment  would  make 
ruinous  inroads  on  her  slender  principal  in  a  few  weeks, 
determined  her  upon  hastening  her  movements  and  quit- 
ting as  soon  as  possible  the  home  she  loved,  taking  up 
an  existence  which  seemed  to  her,  as  she  tried  to  picture 
it,  a  horrible  nightmare  in  which  she  must  die  if  she  did 
not  waken. 

40 


WAYS  AND  MEANS  41 

It  was  no  more  difficult  for  her  true  friends  to  mislead 
Mrs.  Wyndham  kindly  in  business  matters  than  it  had 
been  for  her  false  friend  to  defraud  her.  Mr.  Hurd  and 
Mrs.  Van  Alyn  combined  to  take  advantage  of  her  igno- 
rance of  affairs,  to  her  profit.  It  was  a  bad  time  of  year 
for  a  sale,  as  Mr.  Hurd  had  said ;  but  it  was  of  paramount 
importance  that  the  painful  severing  of  old  ties  should 
be  made  quickly,  not  only  because  it  was  necessary  to 
begin  to  receive  an  income  immediately,  but  in  order  to 
avoid  the  torture  of  keeping  the  Wyndharas'  troubles  an 
open  wound. 

To  all  those  whom  she  hoped  the  news  might  interest, 
Mrs.  Van  Alyn  sent  notices  that  the  pictures  were  to 
be  sold.  Collectors  and  dealers  came  not  only  from  the 
city,  but  from  Boston  and  Philadelphia,  for  Mr.  Wynd- 
ham had  been  well  known  for  the  value  of  his  art  treas- 
ures. Offers  were  made  for  the  pictures  as  they  hung 
on  the  walls,  as  well  as  for  the  marbles  and  bronzes ;  on 
the  whole,  the  prices  were  fair,  considering  that  it  was  a 
forced  sale,  with  no  time  margin  to  allow  the  owners 
opportunity  to  do  better.  At  least  this  method  saved 
the  commission  on  an  auction  sale,  which  had  to  be 
added  to  net  profits  in  estimating  them. 

The  horses  brought  an  excellent  price;  they  were 
young,  perfectly  matched,  and  spirited,  yet  gentle.  Part- 
ing from  them  was  perhaps  the  hardest  pang  Barbara 
had  to  endure.  Castor  and  Pollux  were  really  her  friends 
—as,  indeed,  any  animal  she  came  in  contact  with  was 
sure  to  be.  But  she  derived  a  grain  of  comfort  from  the 


42  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

promise,  which  she  went  personally  to  obtain  from  their 
new  owner,  that  even  if  they  began  to  break  down  he 
would  never  allow  them  to  be  sold  into  hardship— a  prom- 
ise which,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  was  kept  for  the  sake  of  the 
girl  who  had  tried  to  protect  the  creatures  she  loved. 

Mrs.  Van  Alyn  persuaded  Mrs.  Wyndham  to  come  to 
her  for  the  final  two  weeks  of  her  nominal  ownership 
of  the  house.  It  would  be  less  painful,  she  thought,  if 
the  poor  lady  could  pass  its  threshold  for  the  last  time, 
shutting  the  door  on  everything  as  she  had  loved  it, 
rather  than  remain  during  the  dismantling,  to  see  pro- 
fane hands  ruthlessly  dragging  from  their  places  the 
mementos  of  her  happy  marriage  and  the  childhood  of 
her  daughters. 

Accordingly,  one  warm,  sunny  morning,  Mrs.  Van 
Alyn's  rotund  horses  drew  up  at  the  door,  and  Mrs. 
Wyndham,  looking  very  frail  and  newly  widowed  under 
her  long  veil,  came  slowly  down  the  stairs,  leaning  on 
Jessamy's  arm.  She  had  made  a  painful  pilgrimage  to 
each  room,  pausing  at  certain  spots,  laying  her  hand 
lingeringly  on  the  furniture,  and  kneeling  long  before  the 
great  brown-leather  chair  which  had  been  her  husband 's, 
her  face  hidden  on  its  glossy  seat,  which  was  wet  with 
her  tears  when  she  raised  her  head. 

At  each  door  she  stopped,  rested  her  cheek  a  moment 
against  the  casement,  and  kissed  the  dark  wood  as  lov- 
ingly as  a  Jew  would  kiss  the  mazuzah  on  the  casement ; 
for  this  had  been  her  home,  a  sacred  temple,  and  the 
law  of  love  was  written  on  its  door-posts.  It  was  a  long 


WAYS  AND  MEANS  43 

and  weary  task  to  get  the  poor  creature  to  the  end  of 
her  stations  of  sorrow,  and  the  three  girls,  as  well  as  she, 
were  white  and  faint  when  they  reached  the  hall.  But 
finally  Mrs.  Wyndham  came  forth  on  the  door-step,  and 
for  the  last  time  the  heavy  mahogany  door  swung  close, 
shutting  out  its  mistress  forever. 

Jessamy  drove  with  her  mother  to  the  kind  friend 
who  waited  her  with  loving  welcome,  but  Phyllis  and 
Bab  sobbed  long  and  tempestuously  on  the  stairs  after 
Mrs.  Wyndham  had  gone,  and  black  Violet  and  blacker 
Sally,  with  Irish  Ellen,  the  laundress,  on  the  basement 
stairs,  sobbed  with  them. 

That  afternoon  the  work  of  stripping  the  house  was 
begun.  The  pictures  were  boxed  for  their  various  own- 
ers, vans  were  coming  and  going,  taking  the  furniture 
to  auction-rooms,  and  all  was  melancholy  confusion. 

Mrs.  Van  Alyn  and  Phyllis  took  charge  of  the  painful 
work.  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  quietly  set  aside  some  of  the 
dearer  mementos  of  past  happiness  not  too  valuable  to  be 
kept  out  of  the  sale,  to  be  sent  to  a  store-room  she  had 
taken  for  the  purpose.  Nothing  splendid  was  retained; 
only  the  pictures  in  the  girls'  rooms,  their  own  special  pet 
chairs,  desks,  tables,  Bab's  piano,  and  Mr.  Wyndham 's 
library  chair.  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  foresaw  and  tried  to  pro- 
vide for  the  day  when,  in  one  way  or  another,  some  of  the 
Wyndhams  would  again  have  a  home  in  which  this  flot- 
sam and  jetsam  from  their  early  shipwreck  would  be 
welcome.  Not  even  Phyllis  knew  that  their  kind  friend 
was  doing  this,  though  she  unconsciously  furnished  the 


44  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

information  which  guided  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  in  making 
her  selections. 

It  took  but  a  week  to  undo  the  work  of  twenty  years. 
Mr.  Wyndham  had  bought  this  house  on  his  marriage, 
and  his  family  had  known  no  other  home;  yet  by  the 
Saturday  following  the  Monday  on  which  Mrs.  Wynd- 
ham had  gone  away  from  it,  it  was  barren  of  everything 
except  a  bonnet  and  shawl  hanging  on  a  hook  behind 
the  kitchen  door,  the  property  of  the  woman  who  had 
come  in  to  sweep  out  the  empty  rooms. 

Jessamy,  Phyllis,  and  Barbara  roamed  through  the 
house  as  their  mother  had  done,  like  her,  bidding  it  fare- 
well in  every  corner,  listening,  half  frightened,  to  the 
echo  of  their  footsteps  on  the  bare  floors.  Their  power 
to  feel  had  been  spent  in  the  preceding  days  of  their 
painful  tasks;  utterly  weary  in  body  and  mind,  they 
closed  the  door  of  their  dismantled  home  behind  them, 
and  passed  down  the  steps  into  their  new  existence. 

It  had  been  agreed  at  first  among  the  Wyndhams  that 
they  would  not  accept  Mrs.  Van  Alyn's  invitation  to 
Mount  Desert  for  the  summer;  but  Mrs.  Wyndham  was 
so  ill  with  utter  prostration  of  nerves  and  strength,  and 
the  girls  themselves  so  unfit  to  encounter  any  further 
trials,  that  the  question  decided  itself  otherwise.  They 
gladly  availed  themselves  of  another  kindness  from  the 
devoted  friend  who  was  an  antidote  against  heavy  doses 
of  the  poisonous  bitterness  of  finding  there  were  many 
the  warmth  of  whose  affection  was  much  tempered  by 
change  of  fortune. 


WAYS  AND  MEANS  45 

The  summer  at  Mount  Desert  sent  the  Wyndhams  back 
to  New  York  fortified  in  mind  and  body  to  meet  their 
fate.  Phyllis  especially  was  much  cheered  by  the  fact 
that  she  had  made  a  friend  in  Maine  in  the  person  of 
an  old  lady  from  Boston,  who  had  been  quite  charmed 
by  her,  of  whom  she  always  spoke  as  "the  dear  little 
girl,"  and  to  whom  she  promised  a  position  as  reader 
and  companion  to  herself  at  any  time  that  fortune  failed 
Phyllis  in  New  York  or  that  her  family  could  spare  her. 

The  sale  of  the  Wyndhams'  effects— silver,  glass,  jew- 
elry, as  well  as  pictures,  marbles,  furniture,  and  horses 
—had  brought  but  a  trifle  over  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars. Fortunately  Mrs.  Wyndham  disapproved  of  bills, 
so  there  was  but  little  outstanding  indebtedness  to  dis- 
charge before  investing  the  remnant  of  their  fortune. 
But  even  at  six  per  cent,  it  could  not  yield  more  than 
half  of  the  sum  they  had  calculated  on  having,  and  the 
once  lightly  valued  legacy  to  the  girls  from  their  un- 
known great-aunt  Amelia  was  required  to  bring  their 
little  capital  up  to  the  point  of  returning  them  two  thou- 
sand a  year. 

The  first  step  to  be  made  by  these  novices  in  the  un- 
gentle art  of  living  was  to  find  a  boarding-place.  This 
undertaking  was  assumed  by  Jessamy  and  Phyllis,  aided 
by  Ruth  Wells,  who  knew  better  than  they  did  what  to 
seek  and  what  to  avoid. 

The  limitations  of  their  purse  defined  the  boundaries 
of  their  search;  only  places  where  low  prices  obtained 
were  open  to  the  Wyndhams— a  fact  in  itself  difficult  to 


46  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

master  at  first;  and  the  poor  little  pilgrims  up  Poverty 
Hill  shrank  from  the  mere  exterior  of  some  of  the  houses, 
the  advertisements  of  which  they  had  cut  out  and  pasted 
on  a  sheet  of  paper,  making  a  "vertebrate"  like  Mrs. 
March's  in  Howells's  story. 

At  last  they  summoned  courage  to  ring  the  bell  of  an 
old-fashioned,  high-stoop  house  in  a  quiet  down-town 
street. 

' '  What  a  queer  smell,  Ruth ! ' '  murmured  Phyllis,  snif- 
fing the  air  critically  and  speaking  low,  because  the  sight 
and  sound  of  some  one  moving  about,  opening  and  shut- 
ting drawers  in  the  back  parlor,  were  distinctly  visible 
and  audible  through  the  plain  places  in  the  pattern  of 
the  ground-glass  panels  of  the  folding  doors. 

"Boarding-house!"  said  Ruth,  laconically.  "It  's  the 
regular  odor;  ghosts  of  Christmases— past  Christmas 
dinners,  I  mean — Fourth  of  July,  and  no  particular  days 
besides. ' ' 

At  this  moment  the  doors  slid  back,  revealing  a  fold- 
ing-bed, let  down  and  unmade,  and  a  gaunt  figure  in  a 
worn  black  silk  skirt  and  lavender  waist  stood  confessed. 

"We  are  looking  for  board  for  four  ladies— a  widow 
with  two  daughters  and  a  niece,"  said  Ruth,  making 
herself  spokeswoman.  "You  take  boarders,  I  believe? 
We  saw  your  advertisement  in  yesterday's  'Herald.'  ' 

"We  receive  a  few  guests,"  replied  the  gaunt  person, 
correctively.  "We  prefer  gentlemen." 

"Yes;  we  knew  that  on  general  principles,"  said  Ruth, 
easily ;  "but  these  are  ladies.  What  rooms  have  you ? ' ' 


WAYS  AND  MEANS  47 

"A  hall  bedroom  on  the  second  and  two  square  rooms 
on  the  third, ' '  returned  the  gaunt  one.  ' '  Will  you  look 
at  them?" 

"If  you  please,"  said  Jessamy,  and  they  were  con- 
ducted up  the  dingy  stairs  to  the  third  floor.  The  floors 
were  covered  alike  with  red  Brussels  carpet;  the  wall- 
papers—gray with  gilt  figures  in  one,  brown  with  red 
roses  in  the  other— were  alike  tarnished  and  stained.  A 
marble-topped  bureau  of  black  walnut,  a  bedstead,  and 
three  chairs,  with  one  rocker,  all  of  the  same  expression- 
less wood,  furnished  each  room. 

"We  could  never  put  up  with  this,  Ruth;  don't  delay 
here,"  whispered  Jessamy,  but  Ruth  shook  her  head. 
"What  do  you  ask  for  these  rooms?"  she  inquired. 

"Twenty  dollars  a  week  for  each,  two  in  a  room," 
replied  the  gaunt  person. 

"Thank  you;  they  would  not  answer,"  said  Jessamy. 
"Why,  I  should  die  here,  or  go  mad  of  odors  and  ugli- 
ness," she  added  for  Phyllis 's  private  ear. 

"We  might  consider  thirty-five  a  week,  as  it  is  one 
family, ' '  suggested  the  gaunt  person  at  the  door. 

"No,  thanks,"  said  Phyllis.  "Only  fancy!  Seven 
dollars  more  than  we  mean  to  pay,  and  for  what?  Are 
all  boarding-houses  like  this,  Ruth?" 

' '  Not  in  detail ;  similar  in  genus.  I  tell  you,  you  would 
be  far  better  oft  in  your  own  little  flat,  cooking  your 
own  little  meals  on  your  own  little  gas-range,  in  your 
own  little  spider.  However,  don't  lose  heart  at  the  first 
one;  there  are  degrees  of  badness,"  laughed  Ruth. 


48  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

The  second  attempt  was  made  further  up  town,  in  a 
street  among  the  Thirties.  The  parlor  into  which  the 
girls  were  ushered  was  more  cheerful  here  than  in  the 
first  case,  but  was  furnished  in  a  style  that  jarred  on 
the  nerves  through  the  eyes,  just  as  grating  slate-pencils 
jar  them  through  the  ears. 

A  portly  person,  with  a  much  jetted  front,  sailed  into 
the  room,  smiling  affably. 

"We  take  a  few  guests,"  she  said  in  reply  to  the  in- 
quiry for  board,  precisely  as  the  gaunt  person  down 
town  had  replied,  adding,  like  her,  that  she  "preferred 
gentlemen."  "I  have  the  back  parlor  on  this  floor  and 
a  hall  bedroom  on  the  third  vacant  just  now,  though  we 
rarely  have  a  vacancy,"  she  said  graciously.  "You 
might  manage  with  a  folding-bed  in  the  large  room  and 
the  hall  bedroom." 

"And  your  prices?"  asked  Phyllis.  "Still,  it  does  n't 
matter;  we  must  have  two  square  rooms  near  each 
other." 

"I  should  charge  eighteen  dollars  for  two  in  the  back 
parlor,  and  I  would  let  the  hall  bedroom  to  two  for  four- 
teen—my table  board  is  six  dollars  apiece  without  a 
room, ' '  said  she  of  the  jets. 

"No;  we  shall  pay  only  fourteen  for  each  of  the  rooms 
we  are  looking  for,"  said  Jessamy,  whose  courage  was 
rising. 

"Oh,  I  could  n't  consider  it,"  said  the  landlady, 
sternly.  "Still,  there  are  two  lovely  rooms  on  the  top 
floor  you  might  have  for  that.  The  furnace  does  not  go 


WAYS  AND  MEANS  49 

up  there,  so  they  would  be  heated  by  a  stove.  You 
would  n't  mind  looking  after  your  own  fires?" 

' '  I  should  mind  my  mother  going  up  so  many  nights ; 
still,  we  will  look  at  the  rooms,"  said  Jessamy.  The 
long  climb  to  the  top  of  the  house  brought  them  to  two 
rooms  together,  though  not  connected;  sunny,  rather 
cheerful,  and,  though  plainly  furnished,  not  so  ugly  as 
the  first  ones. 

"We  are  not  willing  to  go  up  so  high,  but  we  will  let 
you  know  if  we  consider  them  further, ' '  said  Jessamy. 

' '  I  should  require  references  as  to  respectability, ' '  said 
the  landlady,  firmly. 

''I  am  glad  to  hear  it;  so  should  I,"  said  Jessamy, 
and  departed,  cutting  short  a  list  of  distinguished  people 
who  had  once  boarded  there. 

Three  days  of  weary  search  brought  forth  no  better 
results.  The  main  difference  in  the  places  the  discour- 
aged girls  visited  was  that  in  one  house  the  stairs  went 
up  on  the  right  side  of  the  hall,  in  another  on  the  left ; 
that  in  one  the  furniture  of  the  rooms  was  black  walnut, 
in  another  oak— when  it  was  maple  or  mahogany  it  was 
beyond  the  Wyndhams'  limit  of  price. 

These  days  taught  the  three  girls— for  Barbara  had 
joined  the  others— more  of  life  than  their  entire  years  so 
far  had  shown  them,  and  the  fruit  of  this  tree  of  know- 
ledge was  bitter  indeed. 

They  were  unable  to  find  anything  within  their  means 

better  than  the  upper  rooms  in  the  West  Thirty  

Street  house,  and  decided  to  risk  the  four  flights—five 


50  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

including  the  basement— and  the  dubious  prospect  of 
the  care  of  their  own  fires. 

Having  decided,  they  proceeded  to  make  the  best  of 
what  each  felt  in  her  heart  to  be  a  very  bad  bargain,  with 
the  courage  each  possessed  in  different  forms. 

There  were  two  days  intervening  between  that  on 
which  the  new  boarding-place  was  engaged  and  the  day 
on  which  it  was  to  be  "infested,"  as  Bab  called  taking 
possession.  That  young  person  assumed  the  task  of  beau- 
tifying their  unattractive  quarters,  nor  would  she  per- 
mit any  of  the  others  to  see  her  improvements,  but  ham- 
mered her  thumbs  and  strained  her  unaccustomed  arms 
putting  up  curtains,  shelves,  casts,  and  photographs  un- 
assisted, in  order  to  "usher  her  family  into  a  bower  of 
bliss"  when  it  moved  in. 

On  the  afternoon  before  this  event,  Barbara  came 

along  Thirty Street  from  Sixth  Avenue.  Her  arms 

were  full  of  flower-pots — two  filled  them — and  a  boy 
came  behind  with  a  basket  containing  six  more.  Bab 
had  not  been  able  to  resist  the  temptation  to  invest  in 
plants  to  fill  her  mother's  sunny  window  and  make  the 
room  a  little  more  cheerful.  She  hurried  down  the 
street,  and  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  long  enough 
to  let  her  listless  attendant  squire  catch  up  with  her. 
She  had  no  hand  to  give  her  skirts,  but  she  sprang  up 
the  steps,  regardless  of  the  danger  of  tripping.  At  the 
same  instant  the  front  door  opened  and  a  cocker  spaniel 
rushed  out,  barking  wildly  and  throwing  himself  down- 
ward with  that  apparent  utter  disregard  of  whether  head 


"A  YOUNG   MAN    DASHED   DOWN   THE   STEPS   INTO  THE   RUINS. 


WAYS  AND  MEANS  53 

or  tail  went  first,  and  of  anything  which  might  be  in  his 
path,  characteristic  of  a  young  and  blissful  little  dog. 

He  flung  himself  down,  and  Barbara  stepped  aside; 
her  balance  was  uncertain,  and  her  skirts  unmanageable 
by  reason  of  her  laden  arms.  She  tripped,  fell,  and 
flower-pots,  dog,  and  girl  rolled  crashing  and  scattering 
dirt  in  all  directions  into  the  boy  and  basket  two  steps 
lower,  ending  in  a  tangle  on  the  sidewalk. 

From  the  doorway  a  horrified  voice  cried :  ' '  Good  hea- 
vens !  Nixie ! ' r  and  a  young  man  dashed  down  the  steps 
into  the  ruins. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  he  cried  anxiously,  as  he  fished  Bar- 
bara out  of  the  wreck.  Nixie  had  already  slunk  out 
from  under,  and  was  wagging  his  tail  deprecatingly, 
with  glances  of  mingled  shame  and  amazement  at  his 
master. 

"I  think  I  am,"  said  Barbara,  raising  her  head  and 
trying  to  speak  cheerfully. 

The  young  man  replaced  her  hat— it  had  fallen  over 
her  eyes— and  revealed  a  woebegone  little  face.  Earth 
plastered  the  saucy  chin,  one  cheek  was  cut,  and  blood 
trickled  from  the  bridge  of  the  poor  little  tilted  nose, 
making  a  paste  wherever  the  loam  from  the  flower-pots 
had  spattered,  and  this  was  nearly  everywhere.  Bar- 
bara's hair  was  coming  down,  her  hat  was  shapeless,  and 
her  eyes  tearful  from  the  smarting  wounds. 

"By  Jove,  you  're  a  wreck!  It  's  a  shame!"  cried 
the  young  man.  "I  '11  whip  Nixie." 

"You  '11  do  nothing  of  the  sort!"  said  Barbara,  with 


54  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

spirit.  "How  did  he  know  I  was  coming  up— coming  up 
like  a  flower— at  that  moment?  You  might  as  well  whip 
me.  Nobody  is  to  blame,  and  I  '11  be  all  right  when  I  've 
washed  and  sewed  and  plastered,  and  done  a  few  other 
things." 

"Well,  you  're  plucky,"  said  the  youth,  admiringly. 
"I  'ma  doctor  in  embryo— full  fledged  next  June.  I  '11 
take  you  in  and  fix  you  up.  Do  you— you  don't  live 
here?" 

"We  shall  to-morrow;  I  'm  a  new  boarder,"  said  Bar- 
bara. "Oh,  I  hope  my  plants  are  n't  broken!  Can 
they  be  re-potted  ?  We  've  become  poor,  and  I  ought  not 
to  have  bought  them.  Why  on  earth  does  n't  that  boy  get 
up?  Is  he  killed?"  she  demanded,  realizing  that  her 
companion  in  misery  was  still  lying,  with  his  head  in  the 
basket,  under  a  debris  of  flower-pots. 

"It  's  why  in  earth,  rather,"  laughed  the  medical 
student.  "Here,  you  boy,  are  you  alive?  You  're  buried 
all  right!  Get  up." 

The  listless  boy  gathered  himself  slowly  together. 
"Well,  I  '11  be  darned!"  he  said. 

"You  '11  have  to  be,"  cried  the  doctor,  sitting  down 
to  laugh,  and  pointing  to  the  rent  across  the  shoulders 
of  the  inert  one's  jacket. 

"What  ailed  that  dog?  Did  he  have  a  fit?"  drawled 
the  boy,  scowling  at  Nixie,  who  slunk  behind  Barbara 
self-consciously. 

"He  was  n't  a  dog;  he  was  a  cat-apult,"  gasped  the 
doctor. 


WAYS  AND  MEANS  55 

"Oh,  please  help  me  into  the  house,"  cried  Barbara, 
half  laughing,  half  crying.  Several  people  had  paused 
to  gaze,  grinning  sympathetically  at  the  scene. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!  What  an  idiot  to  keep  you 
standing  here!"  cried  the  medical  student,  jumping  up. 
' '  Here,  hustle  these  plants  into  your  basket, ' '  he  added  to 
the  boy.  "They  're  not  broken;  we  can  fix  them  up  all 
right.  Where  's  my  key?— there  you  are!  Walk  in.  Get 
into  the  house,  Nixie,  you  crazy  pup;  you  've  lost  your 
walk.  Leave  those  plants  in  the  hall,  boy,  and  rush  back 
to  your  employer  and  tell  him  you  want  as  many  pots 
as  you  had  at  first,  and  a  bag  of  dirt,  and  hurry  back 
with  it.  Now,  Mrs.  Black— Mrs.  Black,  where  are  you?" 

"Here,"  said  the  landlady,  emerging  from  the  rear. 
"Why,  Miss  Wyndham,  what  has  happened?" 

"Introduce  us,  please;  we  met  on  the  steps,"  said 
Barbara's  new  acquaintance. 

"Miss  Wyndham— Doctor  Leighton,"  said  the  bewil- 
dered Mrs.  Black,  automatically. 

"Happy  to  have  the  honor,  Miss  Wyndham.  There 
was  a  mix-up  on  the  steps,  Mrs.  Black;  there  's  some  of 
it  there  yet.  Let  me  have  some  warm  water  and  a  sponge, 
please.  Miss  Wyndham,  take  off  your  hat  and  have  your 
face  washed, ' '  said  the  unabashed  boy. 

"Not  by  you,"  said  Barbara. 

"Precisely.  I  'm  almost  a  doctor,  and  I  'm  going  to 
see  that  no  dirt  is  left  in  your  wounds  to  scar  you. 
Don't  be  foolish,  Miss  Wyndham;  it  's  not  exactly  a 
ceremonious  occasion. ' ' 


66  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

Barbara  submitted  with  no  further  demur,  and  soon 
her  face  was  adorned  with  strips  of  court-plaster  laid 
on  in  a  plaid  pattern. 

"Shall  I  be  scarred?"  she  asked,  surveying  the  criss- 
cross lines  on  the  bridge  of  her  nose. 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Doctor  Leighton,  cheerfully.  "Mrs. 
Black  might  give  you  a  cup  of  tea  to  brace  you  up." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Black,  without  enthusiasm. 

"No,  thanks ;  I  hate  tea,  and  I  '11  be  all  right.  There  's 
the  boy  back  with  the  new  pots, ' '  said  Barbara. 

"Let  me  help  you  get  the  plants  in,  and  I  '11  settle 
with  the  boy,  because  it  's  all  Nixie's  fault,"  said  the 
young  doctor.  ' '  Not  a  word !  Get  to  work,  Miss  Wynd- 
ham." 

He  placed  papers  on  the  floor  in  the  rear  hall,  appar- 
ently oblivious  to  Mrs.  Black's  icy  disapproval,  which 
inexperienced  Barbara  found  oppressive. 

"My  father  and  your  father  were  friends,"  said  the 
young  fellow,  packing  the  earth  around  a  begonia.  "I 
knew  you  were  coming  here  to  board,  and  I  know  about 
the  hard  blow  you  've  had.  It  's  a  shame,  and  it  's  all 
the  fault  of  that  scoundrel  Abbott." 

1 '  Oh,  how  nice  that  your  father  knew  papa !  That  is 
almost  like  being  friends  ourselves,"  said  Barbara,  sim- 
ply. "Yes,  it  's  dreadful  for  mama  to  be  poor,  and  for 
Jessamy.  Phyl  and  I  are  not  going  to  mind  it  so  much. ' ' 

"Is  Phil  your  brother?" 

"No;  Phyllis  it  is;  she  's  my  cousin,  only  she  's  just 
as  much  my  sister  as  Jessamy,  for  she  has  always  lived 


WAYS  AND  MEANS  67 

with  us.  I  'm  a  year  younger  than  she  and  Jessamy. 
Jessamy  's  perfectly  beautiful  and  princessfied,  and 
Phyllis  is  the  most  unselfish  blessing  in  the  world.  I  'm 
only  Barbara." 

"And  I  'm  only  Tom;  I  'm  not  a  doctor  yet.  It  's 
awfully  jolly  you  're  coming  here.  Mrs.  Black  gone? 
Yes.  There  is  n't  any  one  in  the  house  I  care  to  know; 
the  young  people  are  not  my  sort.  I  hope  you  '11  for- 
give Nixie  and  me  enough  to  speak  to  us  once  in  a 
while,"  said  Tom,  getting  up  and  dusting  his  knees. 

"Oh,  we  shall  want  to  talk  to  you;  Nixie  is  such  a 
nice  dog,"  laughed  Barbara. 

"Only  Nixie?  Well,  love  my  dog,  love — oh,  it  's  the 
other  way  about !  Never  mind,  though ;  we  can  improve 
old  saws.  Where  are  your  rooms  ? ' ' 

"First  floor  from  the  Milky  Way,"  laughed  Bab. 
"We  hate  to  have  mama  climb  so  far,  but  we  could  n't 
afford  better  rooms." 

Tom  Leighton  looked  down  on  the  swollen,  patched  lit- 
tle face  with  brotherly  kindness;  respect  and  pity  were 
in  his  voice  as  he  said  gently:  "You  will  make  any  room 
bright  and  homelike.  I  see  why  you  took  your  tumble 
down  the  steps  so  well.  You  are  brave  in  falling,  Miss 
Barbara. ' ' 

Barbara  stooped  suddenly  to  pat  Nixie,  hiding  her 
wounded  face  in  his  glossy  curls. 

"I  'm  not  always  brave,"  she  said  huskily.  "I  am 
ashamed  to  think  so  much  about  my  beautiful  room  and 
home.  I  feel  so  little  and  lost  in  this  boarding-house." 


58  THE   WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"Poor  little  woman!"  said  Tom  Leighton.  "Try  to 
feel  you  have  one  friend  in  it.  I  have  two  sisters,  and 
it  was  lonely  for  me  when  I  left  home.  Good-by;  we 
shall  meet  to-morrow."  They  shook  hands,  feeling  like 
old  friends ;  and  Nixie  sat  up  to  shake  hands  too,  though 
the  dignity  of  his  farewell  was  much  damaged  by  a  sur- 
reptitious lick  of  his  quick  red  tongue  on  Bab's  chin. 

Tom  departed,  whistling,  to  give  Nixie  the  walk  the 
accident  had  postponed;  he  found  himself  seeing,  all 
down  the  street,  a  tilted  little  nose  adorned  with  court- 
plaster,  and  brown  eyes,  wistful  like  Nixie's.  "She  's 
plucky  and  simple  and  frank;  just  the  girl  to  be  a  fel- 
low's good  chum,"  he  thought.  "What  luck  they  're 
coming  to  the  Blackboard!" — Tom's  name  for  his  resi- 
dence. 

Bab  finished  her  tasks,  and  went  home  with  glowing 
accounts  of  the  little  dog  who  had  undone  her  and  the 
jolly  boy  who  had  patched  her  up. 

"There  are  two  nice  things  in  our  new  home,"  she 
said;  "and  I  believe  we  '11  be  happy,  in  spite  of  fate." 


CHAPTER  IV 

MAKING   THE  BEST  OP  IT 

DON'T  know  where  to  put  another  thing," 
said  Mrs.  Wyndham,  pushing  aside  a 
hat-box  to  sit  beside  it  on  the  rocker,  and 
casting  a  despairing  glance  from  the 
shallow  closet,  already  full,  to  the  floor, 
covered  with  the  heterogeneous  contents 
of  two  trunks,  in  the  midst  of  which  Barbara  was  sitting. 
It  had  been  decided  that  Bab,  as  the  liveliest  member 
of  the  family,  should  share  her  mother's  room;  and  a 
compact  was  drawn  up  solemnly  pledging  Barbara  to 
keep  a  sharp  lookout  for  symptoms  of  "blues"  in  her 
mother,  and,  if  necessary,  take  as  vigorous  measures 
against  them  as  the  immortal  Jerry  Cruncher  used  to 
prevent  his  wife  ' '  flopping. ' '  The  Wyndhams  had  taken 
possession  of  their  new  quarters  but  two  hours  earlier, 
and  forceful  measures  against  slight  despondency  were 
not  considered  yet  in  order. 

A  scream  from  the  next  room  prevented  Bab  reply- 
ing to  her  mother,  and  Nixie  bounded  through  the 
open  door,  triumphantly  worrying  a  slipper.  He  recog- 

59 


60  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

nized  Barbara,  and  dropped  his  prize  to  bestow  several 
rapid  kisses  on  the  nose  he  had  been  the  means  of  dam- 
aging before  Bab,  from  her  disadvantage-point  on  the 
floor,  could  stop  him. 

Tom  Leighton  appeared  immediately  behind  his  dog, 
calling  Nixie  with  no  result,  for  Bab  had  her  arms 
around  the  wriggling  black  bit  of  enthusiasm,  hugging 
him  hard  and  begging  his  master  to  let  him  stay. 

"Mama,  this  is  the  doctor  who  repaired  me  so  nicely. 
Doctor  Leighton — my  mother,"  said  Barbara. 

"Please  don't  think  me  intrusive,  Mrs.  Wyndham," 
said  Tom,  stepping  forward  to  take  the  delicate  hand 
extended  to  him.  "I  am  the  son  of  John  Leighton,  a 
friend  of  your  husband,  and  I  wanted  to  ask  if  I  could 
be  of  use  in  getting  you  in  order.  I  'm  a  jack-of -all- 
trades,  and  have  been  boarding  long  enough  to  have 
learned  dodges." 

"I  remember  your  father,"  said  Mrs.  Wyndham,  cor- 
dially. "It  is  very  pleasant  to  find  a  friend  among 
strangers.  I  don't  see  what  you  can  do,  unless  you  can 
build  a  closet.  This  tiny  cubby  Bab  and  I  must  share 
is  already  overflowing,  yet  just  look ! ' '  And  Mrs.  Wynd- 
ham made  a  comprehensive  gesture  toward  the  littered 
floor. 

"I  suppose  we  've  too  many  clothes,  but  we  don't 
dare  give  away  one  thing,  because  we  may  never  be  able 
to  get  any  more,  and  we  're  going  to  buy  patent  pat- 
terns and  make  over  this  stock  until  we  're  old  and 
gray.  I  expect  that  to  be  soon,  however,  if  I  have  to 


MAKING  THE  BEST  OF  IT  61 

sew,"  said  Bab,  scrambling  to  her  feet  and  tossing  up 
Nixie's  purloined  slipper  for  him  to  catch. 

''A  dog  broke  and  entered— entered  any  way— and 
stole  Jessamy's  slipper— oh,  I  beg  pardon!"  said  Phyl- 
lis, stopping  short  in  the  doorway  at  the  unexpected  ap- 
parition of  Tom. 

"My  niece,  Miss  Phyllis  Wyndham— and  my  elder 
daughter  Jessamy,  Doctor  Leighton, ' '  added  Mrs.  Wynd- 
ham, as  Jessamy  followed  Phyllis. 

"I  came  to  ask  if  you  had  any  idea  of  what  Jessamy 
and  I  could  do  with  our  things,  auntie,"  said  Phyllis. 
' '  We  have  n  't  begun  to  make  an  impression  on  the  room, 
yet  the  closet  and  drawers  are  full." 

' '  Bab  and  I  are  in  the  same  plight ;  how  do  people  get 
on  in  such  narrow  space?"  sighed  Mrs.  Wyndham. 

' '  You  '11  have  to  have  a  wigwam, ' '  said  Tom. 

"A  wigwam!  That  would  have  no  closet  at  all;  be- 
sides, where  could  we  build  it  in  New  York?"  laughed 
Phyllis. 

"In  that  corner;  I  '11  make  it,"  said  Tom.  "It  's  a 
corner  shelf,  with  hooks  in  the  under  side  and  a  curtain 
around  it.  It  's  the  only  kind  of  closet  I  have,  for  my 
room  is  a  hall  bedroom.  You  can  keep  things  dust  won't 
hurt  in  there.  Then  you  want  a  divan — a  woven-wire 
cot-bed,  with  the  legs  cut  off,  fastened  by  hinges  to  a 
box  made  to  fit  it.  We  could  upholster  it  between  us. 
It  would  be  larger  than  the  ready-made  divans,  and  hold 
more;  you  '11  be  surprised  to  see  what  it  holds.  Then, 
if  one  of  you  were  ill,  it  would  be  useful  as  a  couch." 


62  THE   WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

" There  spoke  the  doctor,"  said  Jessamy.  "A  couch 
is  always  useful.  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  have  a  trunk 
in  each  room  besides,"  she  added  ruefully. 

"If  you  could  bring  yourself  to  part  with  that  table, 
you  could  set  the  trunk— the  flat-topped  one— in  the 
window,  and  I  could  case  it  in  with  white  pine;  we  'd 
cover  it  all  over  with  felt,  and  it  would  n't  be  a  very  bad- 
looking  book-stand,"  said  Tom. 

"Well,  you  are  a  genius!"  cried  Bab,  in  open  admi- 
ration. 

Phyllis  sang  softly  under  her  breath,  to  the  tune  of 
"St.  Patrick's  Day  in  the  Morning": 

"All  hail  to  the  doctor  who  seems  to  be  able 
To  mend  up  a  nose,  or  to  make  up  a  table  ! 
We  gladly  would  cheer  him,  but  that  it  seems  risky, 
For  cheers  in  a  boarding-house  may  be  too  frisky." 

"Well,  I  never!"  laughed  Tom.  "Say,  was  that— 
of  course  it  had  to  be — improvised?" 

' '  Oh,  Phyl  is  a  genius, ' '  said  Jessamy,  proudly.  ' '  One 
of  these  days  her  name  will  be  in  all  the  magazines,  and 
at  last  in  the  encyclopedia." 

"And  maybe  in  oblivion,"  added  Phyl.  "What  time 
do  you — do  we  dine,  Doctor  Leighton?" 

' '  At  six ;  I  suppose  you  want  to  get  ready.  It  is  your 
first  appearance  in  a  boarding-house  dining-room;  you 
must  make  a  strong  impression." 

"Yes,  and  only  look  at  my  court-plaster!  Nixie,  your 
first  impression  was  too  strong,"  groaned  Bab. 


MAKING  THE  BEST   OF  IT  63 

"You  must  n't  let  Nixie  bother  you;  he  '11  try  to  be 
friendly,"  warned  Tom. 

"Let  him,  and  his  master,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Wyndham, 
heartily.  "You  will  both  cheer  us,  and  I  appreciate  your 
kindness  very  fully." 

' '  Not  a  bit  kindness,  ma  'am, ' '  said  Tom,  promptly.  ' '  I 
tell  you,  you  don't  know  how  forlorn  a  boy  is  alone  in 
a  boarding-house.  It  does  me  good  to  get  a  home  breath 
again. ' ' 

"We  '11  help  each  other  if  we  can,"  said  Mrs.  Wynd- 
ham, gently.  "You  can't  be  more  than  a  year  or  so 
older  than  my  girls,  and  a  nice  boy  will  be  a  welcome 
addition  to  storm-tossed  lassies'  lives." 

"Not  to  mention  Nixie;  dogs  are  so  dear,"  said  Bab, 
with  a  slight,  naughty  emphasis  on  ' '  dogs. ' ' 

Tom  and  Nixie  departed,  followed  by  praise  from  all 
the  Wyndhams.  Fifteen  minutes  later  a  gong  sounded 
through  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Wyndham  and  the  girls 
made  their  long  descent  into  the  basement. 

Two  tables  ran  the  full  length  of  the  dining-room,  at 
the  first  of  which  the  newcomers  took  their  places.  A 
severe  old  lady,  presented  to  them  as  Mrs.  Hardy,  sat 
at  its  head,  beside  Mrs.  Wyndham.  She  demanded — 
and  so  received — more  attention  than  any  one  else  in 
the  house;  her  favorite  theme  was  her  past  splendors 
and  the  dignity  of  her  acquaintances.  Opposite  Mrs. 
Wyndham  sat  a  big,  kindly-looking  man,  who  said  he 
was  "just  in"  from  a  Western  trip,  thus  revealing  him- 
self a  traveling  salesman.  He  was  pathetically  fond 


64  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

of  his  two  overgrown,  ill-mannered  children,  and  depre- 
cating toward  his  peevish  wife,  who,  with  the  elegance 
brought  from  her  early  apprenticeship  to  a  milliner, 
assumed  superiority  to  her  less  pretentious  husband,  thus 
keeping  him  in  wholesome  abeyance  and  general  readi- 
ness to  endow  her  with  ornaments. 

Three  over-dressed,  painfully  vivacious  girls  in  a  row 
completed  the  line  opposite  the  Wyndhams,  with  a  big 
man  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  who  combated  with 
a  sort  of  fury  every  proposition  made  by  any  one  else. 
Beside  him  sat  a  widow  who  was  a  bookkeeper  in  a  de- 
partment store,  and  who  looked  utterly  worn  out  and 
anemic.  Two  school-teachers,  middle-aged  and  drab  of 
complexion,  with  the  aggressive  air  of  women  who  had 
from  girlhood  fought  the  world  to  maintain  a  foothold 
in  it,  filled  in  the  line  between  the  wilted  widow  and 
Jessamy. 

The  girls  were  too  young  to  realize  all  that  these  mel- 
ancholy types  stood  for,  but  their  poor  mother  felt,  with 
utter  heartsickness,  that  this  was  the  fate  of  those  whom 
poverty  made  homeless  and  forced  to  struggle  for  ex- 
istence. 

The  second  table  was  filled  with  men  of  varying  de- 
grees of  youth,  solitary  and  unattached,  some  of  whom 
lived  under  the  roof,  but  the  majority  came  in  from 
outside  for  meals  only,  thus  belonging  to  the  class  desig- 
nated as  "table  boarders." 

This  table  almost  to  a  man  stared  at  Mrs.  Wyndham 
and  her  three  charges,  especially  at  Jessamy.  Tom 


MAKING  THE  BEST  OF  IT  66 

Leighton  sat  there,  and  Phyllis,  who  was  quickest  of  the 
three  to  seize  a  situation,  saw  him  flush  with  annoyance, 
and  guessed  that  they,  and  particularly  Jessamy's 
beauty,  were  the  subject  of  impertinent  comment. 

Bab  was  half  amused  and  wholly  excited  by  the  new 
experience;  there  was  something  she  liked  in  rubbing 
elbows  with  such  a  singular  world.  But  the  sense  of 
humor  of  all  the  others  failed  them,  and  they  ate  but 
lightly,  pecking  from  the  individual  vegetable-dishes, 
which  resembled  birds'  bath-tubs,  with  not  much  more 
appetite  than  the  birds  themselves  would  have  had. 

Jessamy  heard  a  loud  whisper  asking  for  "a  knock- 
down to  the  beauty"  as  she  smiled  and  bowed  to  Tom 
Leighton  in  leaving  the  room,  and  Phyllis  was  stopped 
by  the  three  resplendent  maidens,  who  introduced  them- 
selves as  May  Daly,  Fanny  Harmon,  and  Daisy  Heim- 
berger.  "You  just  come?"  they  asked — it  seemed  to 
Phyllis  they  all  talked  at  once.  "Say,  ain't  your  sister 
handsome?  My,  I  think  she  's  simply  great!  Too  bad 
the  other  one  got  cut  so;  must  be  her  who  fell  up  the 
steps  yest'day  when  the  young  doc  was  goin'  out.  Mis' 
Black  was  tellin'  us  last  night.  Funny  way  to  meet! 
Do  you  know  any  of  the  other  young  gentlemen? 
They  're  awful  nice,  but  I  s'pose  we  won't  have  any 
chance  now  you  've  come!"  This  with  a  giggle  that 
showed  doubt  of  her  own  prediction.  "They  take  us 
girls  to  the  theater  real  often  Sat 'day  nights— not  doc, 
though;  do  you  know  him?" 

"Mrs.    Wyndham's    husband    and    his    father    were 


66  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

friends,"  said  Phyllis,  prudently.  It  was  the  first  time 
in  her  short  life  it  had  occurred  to  her  to  explain  her 
actions. 

"Well,  come  see  us;  we  've  got  a  room  with  two  beds 
on  the  third  floor. ' '  And  Phyllis  noticed,  as  they  nodded 
good  night,  that  each  wore  two  buttons  bearing  pho- 
tographs of  the  other  two  members  of  their  trio. 

"Very  likely  they  are  nice  in  their  way— poor  things !" 
she  thought;  "and  share  comforts  and  sorrows— but, 
oh,  dear!"  And  she  followed  her  family  sadly  up  the 
stairs. 

Their  own  rooms  looked  very  peaceful  and  refined  to 
the  Wyndhams  when  they  got  back  to  them,  and  Phyllis 
and  Barbara  felt  comforted  when  the  door  was  closed 
behind  them;  but  Jessamy  sank  into  a  chair  in  blank 
despondency,  and  her  mother  could  not  smile  at  Bab's 
wildest  sallies. 

"First  aid  to  the  injured!"  cried  a  cheery  voice,  and 
Ruth  Wells  burst  into  the  gloom — "like  an  arc-light," 
Barbara  said,  jumping  up  to  hug  her  rapturously. 

' '  No,  don 't ;  I  've  tacks  and  a  hammer  here, ' '  said  Ruth, 
struggling  free.  "I  knew  you  had  no  closets,  or  none 
worth  calling  one,  so  I  came  to  show  you  how  to  make 
a  charity." 

"A  what?"  asked  Jessamy. 

"A  charity;  it  covers  a  multitude  of  things,  you  see," 
laughed  Ruth.  "You  take  a  board— we  can  get  one 
down-stairs,  probably— saw  it  off  to  the  right  length,  and 
put  it  in  a  corner.  Then  you  drive  hooks — " 


MAKING  THE  BEST  OF  IT  67 

"In  the  under  side— we  know,"  interrupted  Phyllis. 
"Only  Doctor  Leighton  says  it  is  a  wigwam." 

"Mama,  let  me  call  that  boy;  we  '11  have  a  bee — a 
be-autif ul  time,  too, ' '  cried  Bab,  springing  up.  ' '  I  won- 
der if  I  could  get  him."  And  she  looked  wistfully  out 
of  the  door. 

By  a  strange  chance,  Tom's  door  happened  to  be 
open.  "Do  you  want  me?"  he  called,  seeing  the  eager 
little  face  he  had  patched  up  so  carefully. 

"Yes.  Ruth  Wells  has  come,  and  we  're  going  to  make 
a  wigwam,  only  she  calls  it  a  charity,  because,  she  says, 
it  covers  a  multitude  of  things, ' '  said  Bab.  ' '  Nixie  too ; 
come,  Nix." 

"I  don't  know  who  Ruth  Wells  is,  but  we  shall  be 
glad  to  come,"  responded  Tom,  with  alacrity. 

In  five  minutes  the  little  room  was  ringing  with  fun. 
The  "charitable  wigwam"— Phyllis 's  compromise  on  the 
name— could  not  be  made  for  lack  of  boards,  but  the 
young  people  managed  to  cover  up  the  dismal  impres- 
sions of  their  first  experience  of  the  bleak  side  of  life, 
and  that  was  making  a  real  charity,  as  Jessamy  pointed 
out  in  bidding  Ruth  good  night. 

The  wigwam  was  made  in  the  end,  the  divan  too,  and 
the  Wyndhams  began  to  learn  to  adjust  themselves  to 
the  new  conditions.  Tom  had  become  almost  one  of  them- 
selves, and  Nixie  a  necessity  and  no  longer  a  luxury,  as 
Bab  noted.  Tom  was  such  a  bright,  honest,  boyish  young 
creature  that  no  greater  piece  of  good  fortune  could 
well  have  befallen  the  girls  in  their  new  trouble  than 


68  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

his  friendship — a  fact  their  mother  recognized  gratefully. 
As  to  Tom  himself,  the  motherly  kindness  of  Mrs.  Wynd- 
ham  and  the  sweet,  frank  companionship  of  the  girls 
were  a  boon  to  the  young  fellow,  who  had  loved  his  own 
mother  and  sisters  well. 

Bab  and  he  were  the  best  comrades,  but  he  admired 
beautiful  Jessamy,  and  was  not  less  proud  of  her  than 
the  girls  were;  and  Phyllis  he  regarded  from  the  first 
with  affectionate  reverence,  as  the  embodiment  of  per- 
fect maidenhood. 

Winter  was  coming  on,  and  for  the  first  time  in  their 
lives  the  Wyndhams  tried  to  make  old  answer  for  new 
in  the  matter  of  garments. 

"Not  a  penny  must  be  spent  this  season,"  declared 
Jessamy,  sternly.  "A  year  hence  we  may  earn  new 
clothes." 

All  the  summer  garments  had  been  laid  away  in  the 
new  divan.  "Never  throw  away  a  winter  thing  in  the 
spring,  nor  a  summer  thing  in  the  fall,"  advised  Ruth, 
that  little  woman  wise  in  ways  and  means.  "You  can't 
tell  how  anything  looks  out  of  its  season,  nor  what  you 
may  want.  Set  up  a  scrap-box,  and  tuck  everything  into 
it ;  it  's  ten  to  one  you  '11  be  grateful  for  the  very  thing 
you  thought  least  hopeful.  Many  a  time  I  've  all  but 
hugged  an  old  faded  ribbon  because  its  one  bright  part 
was  just  the  right  shade  and  length  to  line  a  collar." 

The  scrap-box  was  therefore  established,  and  easily 
filled  from  a  stock  not  yet  depleted.  Jessamy 's  artistic 
talents  developed  in  the  direction  of  hats.  Ruth  taught 


MAKING  THE  BEST   OF  IT  69 

her  to  take  the  long  wrists  of  light  suede  gloves  which 
were  past  wearing,  and  stretch  them  over  a  frame  for 
the  foundation  of  especially  pretty  hats. 

Jessamy  made  three  hats,  one  for  each  of  them,  with 
crowns  of  old  glove  wrists  and  velvet  puffs  around  the 
brims;  and  in  the  new  scrap-box  she  found  quills  and 
ribbons  and  flowers  to  trim  them,  so  that  all  three  were 
different,  yet  each  "a  James  Dandy,"  according  to  Tom 
Leighton's  authoritative  verdict. 

Dressmaking  was  a  more  serious  matter,  but  the  three 
Wyndhams  essayed  it  with  the  courage  of  ignorance. 
Ruth  brought  down  mysterious  brown  tissue-paper  pat- 
terns—''perforated  to  confuse  the  innocent,"  Bab  said 
— and  announced  that  she  had  come  for  a  dress  parade. 
Her  friends  were  still  too  unversed  in  being  poor  to 
realize  that  when  she  came  to  them  Ruth  was  sacrificing 
her  own  good  for  theirs,  since  her  time  meant  money, 
and  little  Ruth's  pockets  jingled  only  when  she  spent 
long  days  at  her  needle. 

"Get  out  all  your  last  year's  glories,"  commanded 
Ruth,  perched  on  the  footboard  of  Jessamy 's  and  Phyl- 
lis's  bed.  "That  's  a  pretty  dark-blue  cloth  suit;  whose 
is  that?" 

"  Phyllis 's;  it  was  nice,  but  she  tried  it  on  the  other 
day,  and  it  's  too  full  in  the  skirt,"  said  Jessamy. 

"I  don't  believe  I  'd  dare  touch  anything  so  tailor- 
made;  if  we  rip  it  we  shall  never  be  able  to  give  it  the 
same  finish.  I  '11  tell  you,  Phyllis;  we  can  take  out 
the  gathers  and  lay  a  box-pleat  in  the  back;  that  will 


70  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

make  it  look  flatter  and  more  in  the  present  style, ' '  cried 
Ruth,  with  sudden  illumination.  "Now  is  n't  it  true 
that  there  's  good  blown  to  some  one  on  all  winds?  If 
you  did  n't  have  stoves  in  your  rooms,  you  would  n't 
have  any  place  to  heat  irons;  and  don't  I  know  the  im- 
possibility of  getting  a  flatiron  from  the  lower  regions 
when  one  is  boarding?" 

"Infernal  regions  do  you  mean,  when  you  say 
'lower'?"  inquired  Tom,  from  the  doorway. 

"Go  away!  This  is  a  feminine  occasion;  no  boys  al- 
lowed, ' '  cried  Ruth. 

"Mysteries  of  Isis?"  suggested  Tom.  "I  only  want 
a  buttonhole  sewed  up;  would  n't  the  goddess  allow 
that?" 

"Yes,"  said  Phyllis,  holding  out  her  hand  for  the 
collar  Tom  was  waving  appealingly.  "It  is  rather  in 
the  line  of  the  service  about  to  begin  in  this  temple. 
We  are  going  into  dressmaking." 

"You  '11  succeed;  you  can  do  anything,"  said  Tom, 
watching  Phyllis 's  fingers  as  she  twitched  the  thread 
in  a  scientific  manner  to  draw  the  gaping  buttonhole 
together.  "Those  laundry  people  apparently  dry  col- 
lars by  hanging  them  upon  crowbars  thrust  through  the 
buttonholes.  Could  n't  I  help  with  your  dressmaking? 
I  know  there  are  bones  in  waists,  and  maybe  I  could  set 
them." 

The  four  girls  groaned.  "Such  a  pale,  feeble  little 
jokelet!"  sighed  Bab.  "Take  it  to  the  hospital  to  be 
measured  for  crutches." 


MAKING  THE  BEST   OP  IT  71 

"Here  's  your  collar.  Run  away  and  play  with 
the  other  little  boys;  we  're  busy.  By  and  by,  if 
you  're  good,  we  may  let  you  take  out  bastings,"  said 
Phyllis. 

' '  Jupiter !  That  sounds  familiar, ' '  sighed  Tom.  ' '  My 
mother  used  to  say  just  that  when  I  was  seven.  Much 
obliged  for  the  collar.  When  you  want  me  for  the  bast- 
ings sing  out,  and  I  '11  pardon  your  impertinence  in 
consideration  of  service  rendered."  And  Tom  disap- 
peared. 

"Phyl  will  do  very  well  with  the  blue,  then,"  said 
Ruth,  resuming  practicalities.  "What  are  your  pros- 
pects, Other  Two?" 

"I  had  this  gray,  and  I  loved  it,"  said  Jessamy, 
smoothing  a  chinchilla-trimmed  jacket  fondly.  "I  think 
it  is  n't  hurt  at  all,  and  I  should  n't  dare  touch  it." 

"There  's  a  spot  on  the  back  where  you  leaned  up 
against  something  greasy,  but  French  chalk  will  make 
it  all  right,"  said  Ruth,  issuing  her  mandates  from  her 
perch  like  a  mounted  general  at  the  head  of  an  army. 

"Mine  was  brown,  with  mink,"  said  Barbara,  sadly; 
"but  I  spilled  something,  sometime— I  don't  know  what 
or  when— on  the  front  of  the  skirt,  and  I  don't  see 
what  you  can  do  with  it;  I  have  n't  a  smidge  of  the 
goods." 

"A  what?"  murmured  Ruth,  absent-mindedly,  wrin- 
kling her  brow  over  the  problem.  "Tailor-made  or  not, 
we  shall  have  to  rip  that  skirt  and  put  in  a  breadth  of 
something  else ;  and  it  will  never  look  right—  No,  I  have 


72  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

it!"  she  cried,  interrupting  herself  and  sliding  to  her 
feet  with  a  triumphant  little  shout. 

''Eureka,  Miss  Archimedes!  What  is  it?"  asked 
Phyllis. 

"Braid!"  cried  Ruth.  "We  '11  get  narrowest  silk 
soutache— Jessamy  shall  draw  a  design — and  you  shall 
braid  the  entire  front  breadth  of  your  skirt,  Bab,  re- 
solving with  each  stitch  to  be  neater  in  the  future. ' ' 

' '  I  never  saw  such  cleverness ! ' '  cried  Jessamy,  admir- 
ingly, while  Bab  made  a  wry  face  over  the  prospect. 

"And  now  for  house  wear,"  said  Ruth.  "Here  are 
some  pretty  light  silks;  the  skirts  are  good,  but  the 
waists  are  worn  out." 

"I  thought,  perhaps,  we  could  make  fancy  waists  of 
the  skirts  to  wear  with  our  cloth  gowns,"  said  Phyllis, 
doubtfully,  turning  over  a  heap  of  light  colors. 

"Could?  Why,  of  course  we  can.  Let  's  rip  them 
now,"  said  Ruth,  whipping  out  her  own  little  scissors 
with  alacrity.  The  four  pairs  of  hands  made  quick  work 
of  the  ripping,  and  Ruth  cut  out  three  waists  by  the 
tissue-paper  patterns  she  had  brought,  pinned  and 
basted  them  together,  and  left  her  friends  to  carry  out 
her  instructions. 

Phyllis  proved  most  adept  at  the  new  art;  Jessamy 
succeeded  fairly,  but  Bab  had  a  dreadful  time  with  her 
waist.  Seams  puckered  and  drew  askew  because  of  her 
reckless  way  of  sewing  them  up  in  various  widths,  yet 
she  felt  aggrieved  when  the  waist  proved  one-sided  on 
trying  on.  And  as  to  sleeves,  Bab's  would  not  go  in  with 


MAKING  THE  BEST  OF  IT  73 

anything  approaching  civility  and  decorum.  The  poor 
child  ripped,  basted,  tried  on,  ripped  again,  refusing  all 
help  in  her  proud  determination  to  be  independent,  till 
her  cheeks  were  purple,  and  she  threw  the  waist  down  in 
despair  and  cried  forlornly. 

Tom  surprised  her  in  this  tempest,  and  laughed  at  her 
until  she  longed  to  flay  him.  Then,  sincerely  repentent 
for  having  aggravated  her  woes,  he  humbly  begged  her 
pardon,  and  took  her  out  for  a  walk  with  Nixie  to  cool 
her  cheeks  and  calm  her  ruffled  nerves.  When  she  re- 
turned, Phyllis  had  taken  it  upon  herself  to  disregard 
her  wishes,  and  had  basted  in  the  refractory  sleeves  for 
her,  which,  like  everything  else,  had  yielded  to  Phyllis 's 
charm  and  gone  meekly  into  place.  From  this  point 
Bab's  path  was  smooth  before  her,  and  the  last  of  the 
three  waists,  the  first  attempt  of  the  girls  at  practical 
work,  was  brought  to  a  triumphant  finish. 

There  was  real  pleasure  in  using  their  wits  in  these 
things,  the  girls  found;  there  was  truly  a  bright  side 
to  poverty.  But  the  ugly  side  remained— the  jealousy  of 
the  three  girls  who  were  their  opposites  at  table,  as  well 
as  literally,  and  who  disliked  the  Wyndhams  for  their 
difference  in  accent,  manners,  birth,  for  their  unlike- 
ness  to  themselves,  for  which  neither  side  was  to  blame 
nor  to  praise. 

And  Mrs.  Wyndham  was  ailing,  fretting  her  heart  out 
over  the  present  situation  and  her  poor  girls'  future. 
And— hardest  of  all  to  bear— the  landlady  made  them 
feel  that  she  considered  the  rate  of  their  board  insuffi- 


74  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

cient  to  remunerate  her  for  the  immense,  though  to  them 
imperceptible,  generosity  with  which  she  served  them. 

But  the  most  serious  aspect  of  the  anxieties  closing 
in  around  the  Wyndhams  was  that,  in  spite  of  all  their 
prudence,  money  slipped  away,  laundry  bills  took  on 
alarming  proportions,  and  they  had  never  dreamed  how 
fast  five-cent  car  fares  could  swell  into  as  many  dollars. 
Although  they  had  taken  care  to  make  their  expenditures 
come  well  within  their  income,  they  saw  that  there  was 
not  going  to  be  enough  to  meet  an  emergency  should  it 
arise,  and  Jessamy  and  Phyllis  talked  till  midnight  many 
a  night  discussing  how  they  could  put  their  young 
shoulders  to  the  wheel  and  join  the  great  army  of  wage- 
earners. 


CHAPTER  V 

PHYLLIS   AND  BARBARA  ENTER  THE  LISTS 


HENRIETTA  always  stayed  until 
November  in  her  cottage  near  Mar- 
blehead.  She  said  that  she  never  en- 
joyed the  ocean  until  she  was  alone 
with  it,  and  Jessamy  suggested  after- 
ward that  it  was  a  trifle  hard  on  the 
ocean—  a  severe  remark  for  Jessamy,  whose  genuinely 
high  standards  of  good  breeding  forbade  unkind  com- 
ment on  others  —  even  on  Aunt  Henrietta,  though  she 
was  trying. 

Immediately  on  her  return  to  town,  Mrs.  Hewlett 
came  to  look  up  "her  fallen  kindred,"  as  Barbara  said. 
That  young  lady  went  down  to  the  parlor  to  conduct 
her  great-aunt  to  her  mother.  "It  would  make  a  lovely 
title  for  a  Sunday-school  book,  would  n't  it?"  she  said, 
turning  from  the  glass,  where  she  had  been  inspecting 
the  last  faint  trace  of  the  mishap  to  her  nose.  '  '  '  Little 
Barbara's  Upward  Leading,'  or  'Toward  the  Skies,'  or 
'Helped  Upward,'  or  'Mounting  Heavenward,'  or  even 
simply  'Uplifted.'" 

75 


76  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"Barbara,  I  am  ashamed  of  you!"  said  her  mother,  as 
severely  as  she  could,  while  trying  not  to  laugh. 

"Now,  Bab,  do  be  nice,"  pleaded  Jessamy. 

"Nice!  I  'd  like  to  know  what  could  be  nicer  than 
to  plan  moral  little  titles  like  those?"  said  Bab,  in  an 
injured  tone.  "But  don't  worry;  I  '11  be  a  sweet  mor- 
sel when  I  get  down  there. ' ' 

"You  look  thinner,"  said  Aunt  Henrietta,  when  Bar- 
bara had  delicately  touched  the  unresponsive  cheek  of- 
fered her  to  kiss. 

' '  I  am  thinner,  aunt ;  we  're  none  of  us  waxing  fleshy. 
Black  Sally 's  marketing  and  cooking  seemed  rather  more 
comforting  than  our  present  fare,"  said  Bab. 

"H'm!  Where  under  heavens  are  your  rooms?" 
asked  Mrs.  Hewlett. 

"Just  there,  Aunt  Henrietta.  Right  under  heavens— 
on  the  top  floor, ' '  laughed  Barbara. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  taken  your  delicate 
mother  up  all  those  flights?"  demanded  her  great-aunt. 
"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourselves." 

"What  could  we  do,  aunt?"  asked  Barbara,  meekly, 
though  her  cheeks  grew  very  red.  "We  were  not  able 
to  make  any  boarding-house  keeper  give  us  better  rooms 
at  our  price  for  mama's  sake." 

"Do?  You  ought  to  be  earning  money— three  great 
healthy  girls— and  Phyllis  only  a  niece-in-law  of  your 
mother's  into  the  bargain!  I  came  to  talk  to  you  about 
this,"  said  Mrs.  Hewlett. 

"Please  wait  till  we  get  up -stairs;  I  fancy  there  are 


PHYLLIS  AND  BAEBARA  ENTER  THE  LISTS          77 

always  ears  about  here,"  said  Bab,  and  led  the  way  to 
their  own  quarters.  "  'Excelsior!'  is  our  motto,  aunt," 
she  said,  pausing  at  the  head  of  the  second  flight,  and 
finding  malicious  pleasure  in  her  relative's  labored 
breathing. 

"Well,  Emily,  the  consequences  of  your  imprudence 
are  severe.  I  am  sorry  to  find  you  thus ;  you  don 't  look 
well,"  was  Aunt  Henrietta's  greeting  to  Mrs.  Wynd- 
ham.  "Now,  I  want  to  get  down  to  business  without 
delay, ' '  she  added,  removing  her  splendid  furs.  ' '  I  sup- 
pose you  are  using  your  principal?" 

' '  On  the  contrary,  our  living,  such  as  it  is,  comes  well 
within  the  limits  of  our  income, ' '  replied  Mrs.  Wyndham. 

"Really!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hewlett,  disappointed  of 
the  chance  to  find  fault  on  that  score,  but  swiftly  rally- 
ing to  another  point  of  attack.  ' '  Then  it  is  because  you 
are  living  so  wretchedly  in  order  to  keep  these  girls  fine 
ladies.  You  always  spoiled  them,  Emily ;  but  your  weak- 
ness really  should  have  some  limit.  It  is  outrageous  for 
you  to  be  compelled  to  climb  all  these  stairs,  that  a  slen- 
der income  may  support  four  people.  These  girls  should 
be  a  source  of  income,  not  a  drain  upon  you;  you  can't 
be  poor  and  be  fine  ladies  at  the  same  time." 

"We  hope  that  we  can  be,  aunt,"  said  Jessamy;  "but 
you  are  quite  mistaken  if  you  think  we  wish  to  spare 
ourselves  at  mother 's  expense. ' ' 

Only  Mrs.  Wyndham 's  hand  holding  Bab's  wrist  tight 
kept  that  small  torpedo  from  exploding.  "This  ques- 
tion has  been  discussed  among  us,  aunt,  especially 


78  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

lately,"  said  Mrs.  Wyndham,  quietly,  though  her  voice 
trembled.  "Jessamy  has  clearly  determined  her  course; 
she  has  talent,  and  we  all  think  can  do  good  book  illus- 
trations. She  is  going  to  fit  herself  for  her  work,  and 
we  hope  will  be  successful.  From  the  first  Jessamy  has 
declared  that  she  should  prepare  herself  to  do  something 
well,  and  devote  herself  to  on«  vocation." 

"Jessamy  has  sense,"  said  Aunt  Henrietta,  surveying 
the  girl  with  something  like  approbation.  "She  is  so 
pretty  that  she  will  undoubtedly  marry  before  she  fol- 
lows any  business  long.  I  only  hope  that  she  will  re- 
member your  necessities,  and  marry  well." 

"If  by  'well'  you  mean  a  good  man,  whom  she  loves,  I 
hope  so  too,  Aunt  Henrietta, ' '  said  Mrs.  Wyndham,  with 
heightened  color.  ' '  Bitter  as  our  recent  trouble  has  been, 
it  would  be  unbearable  if  I  thought  it  would  lead  one 
of  my  girls  to  sell  herself,  forgetful  of  self-respect,  good- 
ness, and  true  womanliness.  Thank  heaven,  I  believe 
there  is  no  danger  of  what  I  should  feel  was  a  great 
crime. ' ' 

"Sentimentality!  You  never  were  practical,  Emily," 
said  Aunt  Henrietta,  impatiently,  but  too  intent  on  her 
object  to  quarrel.  "Now,  how  about  Phyllis  and  Bar- 
bara?" 

"I  agree  with  Aunt  Henrietta  that  I,  at  least,  ought 
to  be  earning  money, ' '  said  Phyllis. 

"Not  you  any  more  than  me,  Phyl,"  cried  Barbara, 
with  more  warmth  than  correctness. 

"Well,  I  cut  out  an  advertisement  from  the  morning 


PHYLLIS  AND  BARBARA  ENTER  THE  LISTS          79 

paper  for  one  of  you  to  answer,"  said  Aunt  Henrietta, 
producing  a  clipping.  ' '  I  want  to  help  you  get  started. 
Barbara,  you  might  try  this ;  it  would  probably  be  easy 
employment,  and  you  are  too  flighty  for  most  things." 

"Thanks,  aunt,"  said  Bab,  with  double  intent,  and 
read  aloud:  "  'Wanted:  A  young  lady  correspondence 
clerk  in  gentleman's  office.  Good  salary  to  right  per- 
son. Address  X.  Y.  Z.  Trumpet,  Downtown  Office.'  ' 

"That  sounds  rather  nice,"  commented  Barbara, 
spearing  the  slip  to  the  pin-cushion  with  a  hat-pin.  "I 
will  answer  it,  Aunt  Henrietta." 

"If  you  write  now,  I  '11  post  it  when  I  go  out,"  sug- 
gested Mrs.  Hewlett. 

' '  Afraid  to  trust  me  ?  I  always  do  what  I  say  I  will, 
but  I  would  as  lief  write  now  as  any  time,"  said  Bab, 
and  seated  herself  at  the  table. 

"How  is  this?"  she  asked  later,  and  read:  "  'The 
inclosed  advertisement  from  "The  Trumpet"  noted. 
The  undersigned  applicant  for  the  situation  would  say 
that  she  is  seventeen  years  old.  This  note  is  a  specimen 
of  her  handwriting;  and  for  character,  ability,  personal 
qualities,  etc.,  she  can  furnish  best  city  references.  An 
interview  requested.  Address, '  etc.  Will  that  do  ?  I  'm 
not  so  sure  about  the  reference  for  ability,  but  I  hope 
some  one  would  guarantee  my  honesty." 

' '  Mercy,  Bab !  where  did  you  learn  such  business-like 
forms?"  cried  Jessamy. 

"Oh,  but  fancy  my  little  Bab— my  baby— going  down 
to  business  every  day!  There  is  no  doubt  that  it  is  a 


80  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

misfortune  for  women  to  be  forced  to  compete  with  men ; 
I  never  could  let  little  Babbie  do  it,"  cried  poor  Mrs. 
Wyndham. 

' '  I  promise  not  to  compete,  Madrina ;  the  men  shall  go 
on  as  if  nothing — as  if  I,  at  any  rate— had  never  hap- 
pened. It  can't  do  any  harm  to  send  in  my  applica- 
tion," said  Bab. 

"There  is  just  where  your  foolish  pride  comes  in, 
Emily,"  said  Aunt  Henrietta,  sternly.  "Your  daugh- 
ters are  no  better  than  other  people's  daughters;  and 
every  one  knows  that  if  a  girl  behaves  herself  no  harm 
can  befall  her  under  any  circumstances." 

"It  is  not  pride,"  said  Mrs.  Wyndham,  stung  to  self- 
defense.  "Nor  do  I  fear  harm,  exactly.  Unwomenly 
women  are  a  misfortune  to  themselves  and  all  the  com- 
munity, and  it  is  impossible  to  knock  about  the  world 
without  losing  something  of  that  dear  and  delicate  loveli- 
ness which,  at  best,  is  fast  going  out  of  fashion.  If  it  can 
be  avoided,  I  think  no  girl  should  be  placed  in  the  thick 
of  the  fight,  striding  through  the  world  in  fierce  compe- 
tition with  men." 

"If  it  can  be  avoided— precisely ;  but  it  cannot  be 
avoided,"  said  Aunt  Henrietta,  calmly;  "for  none  of 
your  relatives  can  afford  to  help  you,  Emily." 

"Help?  When  did  I  ever  dream  of  wanting  or  b'eing 
willing  to  accept  help,  aunt?"  cried  Mrs.  Wyndham, 
hysterically.  "But  if  I  prefer  to  practise  stern  self- 
denial  to  keep  my  girls  sheltered  until  such  time  as  they 
can  help  me  in  more  feminine  ways  than  you  propose— 


AUNT   HENRIETTA. 


PHYLLIS  AND  BAEBARA  ENTER  THE  LISTS          83 

or  would  let  them  follow  if  they  were  your  own,  I  feel 
sure— is  that  wrong?" 

"Not  wrong,"  said  Aunt  Henrietta,  with  exasperat- 
ing soothing  in  her  voice,  and  entire  conviction  of  being 
right,  ''but  utterly  foolish  and  impractical.  Now,  I  have 
a  proposition  for  Phyllis.  A  friend— an  acquaintance 
of  mine — desires  a  nursery  governess.  She  has  three 
charming  children,  and  will  pay  a  girl  twenty-five  dol- 
lars a  month  to  teach  them  the  simple  things  children 
between  six  and  three  years  of  age  learn,  take  them  out 
—in  short,  be,  as  I  said,  nursery  governess;  you  know 
what  those  duties  are  as  well  as  I  do.  There  is  no  ex- 
posure to  the  world  in  that  position,  so  you  ought  to  like 
it,  Emily." 

' '  Could  I  go  and  come  every  day,  aunt  ? ' '  asked  Phyl- 
lis, while  Mrs.  Wyndham  twisted  her  handkerchief  ner- 
vously. This  was  bringing  poverty  home  to  her;  she 
clung  strongly,  poor  lady,  to  the  hope  of  sheltering  her 
little  brood,  and  no  amount  of  privation  at  home  seemed 
to  her  like  thrusting  the  burden  on  them,  as  did  their 
going  out  into  the  world  to  earn  their  living. 

"She  would  want  you  to,"  said  Aunt  Henrietta,  ris- 
ing, well  pleased  at  finding  her  grand-nieces  so  amenable 
to  reason— "amenable  to  reason"  meaning,  to  her  mind, 
as  to  most  others,  readiness  to  accept  her  opinion.  "I 
wrote  this  introductory  line  on  the  back  of  my  visiting- 
card.  You  will  find  Mrs.  Haines  at  that  number  on 

East  Forty Street,  just  beyond  Fifth  Avenue.  You 

will  do  well  to  apply  at  once,  for  there  will  be  many 
after  the  situation." 


84  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

"You  won't  mind  if  Phyllis  mentions  that  she  is  your 
niece,  in  case  she  does  decide  to  apply?"  inquired  Jes- 
samy,  with  meaning  hidden  under  a  gentle  manner. 

But  the  satire  was  quite  lost  on  Aunt  Henrietta. 
"Not  at  all;  you  are  only  my  grand-nieces,  and  my  so- 
cial position  is  beyond  being  affected  by  trifles, ' '  she  said, 
in  self-gratulatory  tones.  Then  she  went  away,  leaving 
a  perturbed  roomful  behind  her. 

"Now,  let  me  tell  you,  my  dearest  auntie-mother,  that 
I  think  I  '11  try  the  nursery  governess,"  said  Phyllis. 
' '  Twenty-five  dollars  a  month  will  nearly  pay  my  board, 
and  I  'd  be  happier  to  feel  I  were  helping.  It  won't 
be  the  end  of  my  career,  I  hope,  but  it  will  answer  for 
a  beginning.  I  honestly  think  our  beloved  metallic  great- 
aunt  is  right— that  we  ought  to  be  bettering  matters, 
rather  than  settle  down  satisfied  to  such  a  life  as  this. 
Jessamy  and  I  have  reached  that  conclusion  lately." 

Mrs.  Wyndham  was  crying  softly.  "To  think  that  if 
I  had  heeded  Mr.  Hurd  we  should  still  have  enough," 
she  moaned. 

"If— if !  Mama,  what  is  the  use  of  'ifs'  now?"  cried 
Barbara.  "You  did  what  you  thought  right,  and  we 
can't  bear  to  have  you  reproach  yourself.  My  letter  has 
gone,  and  we  will  try  to  enter  the  lists  to  fight  for  you 
like  true  knights— pity  we  're  girls,  for  it  spoils  my 
fine  simile." 

"I  think  not,  Babbie  baby;  a  knightly  spirit  is  quite 
as  often  in  a  girl's  breast  as  in  a  boy's,"  said  her  mother, 
kissing  her. 


PHYLLIS  AND  BARBARA  ENTER  THE  LISTS         85 

"The  worst  of  it  is  that  I  feel  so  mean  and  selfish  to 
let  you  all  help,  while  I  stay  at  home,"  said  Jessarny. 
"But  I  honestly  believe  I  can  do  more  and  help  better 
by  waiting  and  following  my  natural  bent.  You  won't 
think  me  shirking?  When  even  little  Bab  is  answering 
advertisements,  I  feel  horribly  indolent  and  self-seek- 
ing." 

"  'Even  little  Bab' — who  is  anything  but  even— is 
only  a  year  younger  than  you,  miss,"  said  Bab;  while 
Phyllis  put  her  arms  around  Jessamy  and  kissed  her 
as  she  said :  "No  one  could  ever  suspect  you  of  not  play- 
ing fair,  my  crystal  cousin." 

Phyllis  went  forth  in  her  dark-blue  gown  the  next  day 
to  "secure  the  young  ideas  which  in  the  end  she  would 
probably  want  to  shoot, ' '  Bab  said. 

Mrs.  Haines  was  at  home,  and  came  down  immediately. 
Phyllis  presented  her  card  of  introduction,  and  stated 
her  errand. 

"It  seems  absurd  to  inquire  into  the  qualifications 
of  a  Miss  Wyndham  to  teach  children  as  young  as  mine 
are — but  do  you  understand  kindergarten  methods?" 
Mrs.  Haines  asked  affably. 

"I  am  sorry,  but  I  do  not,"  said  Phyllis. 

"No;  you  would  hardly  have  studied  them,  not  hav- 
ing foreseen  the  necessity  of  teaching.  The  books  can 
give  you  suggestions,  and  you  can  easily  pick  up  those 
charming  song-games.  You  sing  ? ' ' 

"A  little;  enough  for  that,"  said  Phyllis. 

"And  speak  French?" 


86  THE   WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"As  well  as  English,"  said  Phyllis,  glad  to  answer 
one  inquiry  affirmatively. 

' '  Oh,  then  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  speak  it  with 
the  children,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Haines.  "Fancy  having 
a  daughter  of  Mr.  Henry  Wyndham  for  one's  nursery 
governess!  What  a  land  of  reverses  America  is! 
Frankly,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  take  you  the  moment 
you  came." 

The  vulgarity  of  this  remark  struck  Phyllis  dumb  for 
a  moment.  Never  in  her  life  had  she  felt  that  the  money 
standard  existed.  In  her  home  she  had  been  surrounded 
by  luxury,  but  never  before  had  she  imagined  that  any 
one  could  estimate  a  person  by  what  he  had,  or  desire  to 
know  those  who  had  wealth,  merely  for  that  reason. 
In  a  flash,  the  vision  of  a  world  of  shams,  snobbishness, 
insincerity,  spread  before  her,  calling  forth  the  fierce 
revolt,  the  sickening  repulsion,  proper  and  natural  to 
her  youth  and  better  teaching. 

"I  am  not  Mr.  Henry  Wyndham 's  daughter,"  she 
said;  "I  am  his  brother's  daughter,  but  I  have  lived 
with  my  uncle  since  I  was  almost  a  baby,  and  neither 
of  my  cousins  feels  any  difference  between  me  and  her 
own  sister." 

"Oh,  but  there  is  a  difference;  your  uncle  and  aunt 
must  have  felt  it,  if 'the  children  did  not,  or  if  they  were 
too  kind  to  let  you  see  it.  They  were  very  nice  to  look 
after  you.  Are  you  the  only  one  who  is  going  to  work, 
now  that  the  money  is  gone?  Why  did  not  one  of  the 
others  come?"  asked  Mrs.  Haines,  with  evident  disap- 


PHYLLIS  AND  BARBARA  ENTER  THE  LISTS          87 

pointment,  wrinkling  her  pretty,  if  rather  common,  face 
fretfully. 

"Miss  Wyndham  and  Miss  Barbara  Wyndham  have 
other  plans,"  said  Phyllis,  haughtily.  Then,  realizing 
that  she  was  actually  the  applicant  for  a  position,  and 
that  this  tone  would  never  do,  she  added,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  influencing  the  shallow  creature  before  her, 
though  she  despised  herself  for  appealing  to  such  mo- 
tives: "I  doubt  very  much  if  the  world  knows  which 
is  niece  and  which  are  daughters.  We  have  always  been 
to  every  one  merely  'the  Wyndham  girls,'  with  no  dis- 
tinction to  outsiders  any  more  than  among  ourselves." 

"How  lovely!  Of  course  it  makes  no  real  difference; 
you  must  come  to  me,  just  the  same,"  said  Mrs.  Haines, 
brightening.  "Would  you  like  to  see  the  children  and 
the  nursery?  All  mothers  think  their  babies  sweetest, 
but  I  know  that  mine  are."  And  she  led  the  way  up- 
stairs. 

Poor  Phyllis !  Her  heart  melted  somewhat  toward  her 
future  employer  at  this  remark,  but  when  she  reached 
the  nursery  even  her  innocence  could  hardly  help  dis- 
covering that  this  too  was  a  pose.  No  mother-light  leaped 
into  Mrs.  Haines 's  eyes  at  the  sight  of  the  three  little 
creatures  playing  there,  nor  did  the  children  spring  to 
meet  her,  as  the  three  little  Wyndhams  had  always 
sprung  at  the  sight  of  their  mother— mother  to  them 
all  equally,  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Haines 's  doubt. 

Phyllis  loved  children,  and  her  quick  perception  of 
the  lack  in  the  lives  of  these  filled  her  with  pity.  She 


88  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

stooped  down  to  them,  and  ran  her  fingers  through  the 
curls  of  the  second  child,  a  girl  of  four,  and  drew  the 
baby,  another  girl  of  three,  toward  her.  The  eldest,  a 
pale  boy  of  six,  gazed  at  her  steadily.  "Who  are  you?" 
then  he  said. 

"This  is  Miss  Wyndham,  and  she  is  coming  to  teach 
you  and  play  with  you  every  day,"  said  his  mother. 

"Oh,  would  n't  it  be  better  for  them  to  call  me  Miss 
Phyllis  ?  It  sounds  less  distant,  and  I  want  them  to  love 
me.  You  will  love  me,  won't  you?"  said  Phyllis. 

"Don't  touch  my  hair;  you  '11  spoil  it!"  said  the  elder 
girl;  but  the  baby  laughed  and  cuddled  closer,  and  the 
boy  said  gravely:  "I  think  I  shall,  because  you  've  got 
such  a  lamp  behind  your  eyes. ' ' 

"Decidedly,  one  of  my  charges  is  going  to  prove  in- 
teresting," thought  Phyllis;  but  she  only  said:  "Won't 
you  tell  me  your  name,  and  your  sisters '  ? " 

"Mine  is  Lionel  Ferdinand  Haines.  What  would  you 
do  if  the  boys  up  in  the  park  called  you  'Nellie'  because 
you  wore  curls?  My  mother  won't  cut  them  off." 

"Then  I  should  laugh  at  the  boys  for  trying  to  tease 
me  when  I  did  n't  care  what  they  said;  and  I  should 
try  to  like  curls  because  my  mother  liked  them,"  said 
Phyllis.  "And  the  girls'  names?" 

"The  big  one  is  Muriel  Dorothy  Haines,  and  the  lit- 
tlest one  is  Gladys  Gertrude  Haines,"  said  Master  Lionel, 
and  was  about  to  propound  another  question  when  his 
mother  interrupted  him  to  say  that  she  must  take  Phyl- 
lis away,  because  she  had  an  engagement. 


PHYLLIS  AND  BARBARA  ENTER  THE  LISTS          89 

"  Shall  I  consider  the  matter  settled,  Miss  Wyndham, 
and  that  you  are  coming?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  please,"  said  Phyllis. 

"And  at  twenty-five  dollars  a  month?  Mrs.  Hewlett 
mentioned  the  wages,  I  suppose  ? ' ' 

"Yes— please,"  said  Phyllis  again,  forcing  the  last 
word,  as  she  kissed  the  baby. 

Lionel  extended  his  hand  to  be  shaken,  but  Muriel  said 
"Good-by"  crossly,  refusing  to  be  touched. 

"I  am  engaged,  girls,"  said  Phyllis,  coming  into  the 
room  with  very  red  cheeks  on  her  return,  and  maintain- 
ing silence  as  to  the  discouraging  aspects  of  her  new 
employment. 

Phyllis  began  her  labors  on  the  following  Monday. 
Barbara,  who  had  heard  nothing  further  from  her  appli- 
cation for  the  correspondence  clerkship,  now  turned  to 
Mr.  Hurd  for  help,  and  the  little  lawyer  obtained  for 
her  the  position  of  cashier  with  a  friend  of  his  own, 
where  the  young  girl  would  at  least  be  secure  from  many 
of  the  drawbacks  to  a  business  career  which  her  mother 
dreaded  for  her. 

But,  to  Bab's  unspeakable  mortification,  she  found 
that  she  was  incompetent  to  fill  the  position.  She  made 
change  slowly,  often  wrongly,  and  at  night  her  columns 
would  not  add  up  right,  no  matter  how  often  she  went 
over  them  nor  how  carefully  she  counted  her  fingers. 
At  the  end  of  a  week  she  came  home  crestfallen,  having 
been  kindly  dismissed,  to  be  comforted  and  petted  by 
her  mother  and  the  girls.  Accomplishments  she  had,  but 


90  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

practical  knowledge,  especially  arithmetic,  she  lacked. 
Phyllis  had  been  right,  in  the  first  place,  when  she  said 
they  were  not  able  to  compete  with  their  inferiors  in 
doing  the  serious  work  of  the  world. 

After  this  experience,  Mr.  Hurd  placed  Barbara  in  an 
office  to  address  envelops.  This  she  did  well,  for  her 
fingers  and  brain  were  quick;  but  she  was  far  from  an 
expert,  and  her  salary  was  but  three  dollars  and  a  half 
a  week.  Fortunately,  the  office  was  within  walking  dis- 
tance for  her,  so  that  car  fare  did  not  have  to  be  de- 
ducted from  this  magnificent  result  of  six  days'  labor. 

Jessamy  was  working  hard  at  her  drawing.  Phyllis 
said  little  of  her  daily  experiences,  from  which  her  fam- 
ily concluded  that  they  were  not  wholly  pleasant. 

A  single  ray  of  hope  shone  out  of  the  gloom  for  Phyl- 
lis. A  little  story  she  had  written  was  accepted  by  one 
of  the  large  syndicates  and  paid  for— fifteen  dollars. 
The  money  was  not  much,  though  it  was  more  than  half 
of  what  she  was  paid  monthly  by  Mrs.  Haines;  but  the 
glory  and  the  hope  it  shed  on  the  future  were  invaluable. 

On  the  whole,  Phyllis  and  Barbara  found  their  en- 
trance into  the  lists  not  easy,  and  the  blows  of  the  tour- 
ney hard,  but  they  kept  on  with  a  courage  fine  to  see. 

They  all  felt  that  in  some  way  their  skies  would 
brighten  when  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  returned;  she  was  their 
"Lady  from  Philadelphia,"  and  would  be  sure  to  find 
a  way  through  their  difficulties.  But  Mrs.  Van  Alyn 
had  gone  to  England  till  February,  and  in  the  meantime 
the  Wyndhams  struggled  on  to  the  best  of  their  ability. 


CHAPTER  VI 
MARK  TAPLEY'S  KIND  OF  DAYS 

HYLLIS  was  finding  her  occupation 
trying.  The  children  had  not  been 
accustomed  to  obedience,  and  Muriel 
proved  intractable;  Phyllis  could  nei- 
ther win  her  affection  nor  subdue  her 
by  sternness.  Lionel  minded  her  be- 
cause he  loved  her;  in  a  week's  time  the  boy  had  be- 
come her  doglike  adorer,  and  Phyllis  loved  him  with 
pitying  tenderness.  The  baby  was  like  a  little  garden 
patch  with  the  sun  shining  upon  it  through  the  tree 
branches,  in  alternate  sunshine  and  shadow,  and  her  obe- 
dience was  patchy,  too ;  no  child  more  properly  deserved 
the  insignia  of  "a  little  curl  right  in  the  middle  of  her 
forehead."  But  she  was  only  the  baby;  no  one  could 
take  very  seriously  the  misdemeanors  of  a  mite  of  three, 
and  Gladys  was  a  dear  mite  when  she  was  not  the  other 
sort. 

It  was  hard  to  assume  the  charge  of  three  children  for 
six  hours  a  day;  hard  to  bring  them,  and  herself  as 
well,  into  the  discipline  of  stated  hours  and  tasks;  not 

91 


92  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

easy  to  take  them  out  to  walk,  and  feel  perfectly  inde- 
pendent and  indifferent  to  the  possibility  of  meeting  old 
acquaintances  when  thus  employed. 

But  the  hardest  thing  about  her  new  life  to  Phyllis  was 
the  insight  it  gave  her  into  a  manner  of  living  which 
shocked  and  tortured  her,  for  Phyllis  was  a  conscientious 
girl,  and  the  first  actual  contact  with  the  worldly  side 
of  the  world  is  bitter  to  such  as  she.  Mrs.  Haines  did 
not  love  her  children.  Sometimes,  when  they  were  beauti- 
fully dressed,  she  flattered  them  and  devoured  them  with 
kisses;  but  more  frequently  she  repulsed  them,  scolded 
them  petulantly  and  unjustly,  and  answered  their  ques- 
tions with  a  fretful  "Don't  bother  me!  I  don't  know; 
ask  Miss  Wyndham. ' '  Sometimes  she  would  say  in  their 
hearing  that  she  detested  children ;  that  they  all  ought  to 
be  fastened  up  in  the  barrel  Holmes  suggested  and  fed 
through  the  bunghole ;  and  that  she  would  give  anything 
if  she  were  free  to  have  a  good  time,  like  other  young 
women.  And  Phyllis  could  see  Lionel's  lips  quiver  and 
then  set  hard  at  these  speeches,  and  she  knew  the  little 
lad  understood  that  though  he  had  a  mother,  he  had  not 
her  love,  but  was  a  burden  to  her. 

It  made  her  sick  at  heart;  less  experienced  than  her 
tiny  charges,  she  had  never  for  a  moment  dreamed  that 
a  woman  who  had  children  could  do  less  than  love  them 
beyond  all  the  world,  holding  no  pleasure,  no  admira- 
tion, worth  a  thought  while  her  babies'  little  arms  clung 
to  her.  But  Mrs.  Haines  boasted  the  flattery  she  re- 
ceived. Evidently  husband,  as  well  as  children,  was 


MAEK  TAPLEY'S  KIND  OF  DAYS  93 

nothing  to  her  beside  her  idea  of  pleasure;  and  honest 
Phyllis  went  home  daily,  heavy  in  mind  and  foot,  weary 
with  loathing  more  than  with  work. 

Tom  saw  that  she  was  looking  blue  and  ill,  and  he 
made  it  his  business  to  come  home  her  way  and  meet 
her,  and  try  to  cheer  her  into  forgetfulness  of  the  an- 
noyances of  which  he  was  ignorant;  for  Phyllis  could 
not  reconcile  it  with  her  standard  of  honor  to  talk  to 
any  one  of  what  she  saw  in  the  home  to  which  she  had 
been  admitted.  Yet  she  longed  to  ask  some  one  if  all 
the  world,  but  her  own  narrow  one,  was  like  this  new 
one ;  Jessamy  and  Bab  knew  no  better  than  she,  and  her 
aunt  was  too  ill  to  be  troubled. 

Mrs.  Haines  soon  discovered  the  handsome  young  fel- 
low who  came  to  meet  her  governess,  and  rallied  Phyllis 
on  what  she  called  "her  conquest."  "I  hear  you  have 
an  admirer,  my  dear, ' '  she  said. 

Phyllis  flushed  scarlet  with  indignation.  "Tom  is  a 
dear  boy,  like  a  brother  to  all  of  us, ' '  she  said.  ' '  There 
is  n't  the  least  silly  thing  about  him;  we  are  only  girls, 
and  we  don't  want  nor  think  of  flirtations." 

Mrs.  Haines  laughed  with  contemptuous  good  nature. 
"Would  it  be  silly  in  him  to  admire  you?"  she  asked. 
"  As  to  the  rest  of  it,  girls  you  may  be,  but  children  you 
are  not;  I  was  no  older  than  you  when  I  married,  and 
am  only  seven  years  older  than  you  are  now." 

"My  aunt  has  taught  us  that  love  and  marriage  are 
so  sacred  and  solemn  that  we  must  never  think  nor  speak 
of  them  lightly,  and,  above  all  things,  never  spoil  our 


94  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

lives  and  hearts  by  flirting,"  said  Phyllis,  trying  to 
speak  without  excitement. 

"Very  good  teaching;  very  poor  practice,  my  dear," 
laughed  Mrs.  Haines.  "Do  you  want  to  be  three  little 
gray  nuns?  But  I  hoped  this  'Tom'  of  yours  might 
prove  something  more  serious  than  a  flirtation— that  is, 
if  he  has  any  money;  your  business  is  to  marry  well, 
under  your  present  circumstances;  don't  go  in  for  ro- 
mance. ' ' 

1 '  I  never  think  of  marrying,  Mrs.  Haines ;  I  am  much 
too  young  and  girlish.  But  I  would  rather  die  than 
marry  just  for  money,"  said  Phyllis. 

"See  here,  Miss  Wyndham;  I  was  a  poor  girl  too," 
said  Mrs.  Haines.  "I  had  just  about  enough  money  for 
gloves  and  hats,  but  not  for  gowns  and  shoes.  My  hus- 
band is  fourteen  years  older  than  I;  do  you  think  I 
cared  for  him?  Not  a  bit,  but  I  married  him  at  nine- 
teen, and  now  I  have  a  fine  house,  carriage,  everything 
I  want,  and  more  beaux  to  say  I  'm  pretty  than  most 
girls  of  my  age.  Don't  you  think  I  was  sensible?" 

In  spite  of  herself,  Phyllis  shuddered ;  she  thought  of 
Mr.  Haines 's  solitary  breakfasts,  frequent  dinners  at 
the  club,  the  unloved  children,  and  realized  how  blessed 
she  had  been  in  her  bringing  up. 

"There  are  better  things  than  money,  Mrs.  Haines," 
she  said,  almost  pitying  the  little  creature  before  her, 
hardly,  as  she  said,  older  than  herself,  yet  so  frankly 
pagan  and  sordid.  "I  would  rather  work  till  I  died 
working  than—" 


MARK  TAPLEY'S  KIND  OF  DAYS  95 

She  stopped,  frightened  at  her  own  boldness.  Mrs. 
Haines  looked  at  her,  understanding  what  she  did  not 
say.  "There  will  always  be  these  two  kinds  of  people," 
she  said,  and  Phyllis  wondered,  not  quite  comprehending. 

Phyllis  met  Tom  with  a  sensation  of  relief,  as  well  as 
pleasure ;  he  looked  so  manly,  so  reliable.  "It  's  no  use, 
Tom,"  she  said.  "I  've  been  trying  not  to  tell  you,  but 
I  must.  Is  it  I  or  the  world  that  's  out  of  joint?" 

"On  general  principles,  I  can  assure  you  that  it  's 
not  you,  Phyllis;  you  're  all  right.  But,  if  I  might, 
I  should  like  to  have  something  more  explicit,"  said 
Tom,  looking  very  kindly  down  on  the  flushed,  earnest 
face. 

Phyllis  began  at  the  beginning,  and  poured  forth  to 
Tom  all  the  matters  that  had  distressed  her  in  the  Haines 
household,  ending  with  the  conversation  of  the  afternoon, 
suppressing  his  part  in  the  theme. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  tell  you,  Phyllis?" 
asked  Tom.  ' '  Surely  you  don 't  have  to  question  whether 
you  or  a  heartless,  flirting,  worldly  woman  is  right  ?  Or 
whether  any  woman  worth  the  name  will  sell  herself  for 
an  establishment  and  clothes?" 

"No,  not  that;  right  is  right,  and  wrong  is  wrong—" 
began  Phyllis. 

' '  Always, ' '  broke  in  Tom. 

"Yes,  I  know;  but  what  makes  me  downright  sick  is 
the  fear  that  dear  auntie  has  kept  us  shut  away  from  a 
world  that  is  full  of  this  sort  of  thing— that  all  the 
world  is  like  this,"  cried  Phyllis.  "Are  we  different 


96  THE   WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

from  the  rest  of  the  world?     These  last  months  have 
frightened  me." 

"Not  much  wonder,"  said  Tom,  heartily.  "Poor  lit- 
tle soul !  Now,  look  here,  Phyllis ;  you  're  not  different 
from  all  the  world,  but  you  're  different  from  lots  of  it. 
The  best  never  gets  run  out,  but  it  runs  low  often. 
You  've  been  given  the  highest  standards  in  all  things, 
and  they  can  never  be  common.  It  is  much  easier  to  be 
bad  than  good  for  people  who  start  crooked ;  you  started 
straight,  you  and  Jessamy  and  Bab.  All  you  've  got 
to  do  is  to  be  yourself  and  not  worry.  Keep  your  own 
ideas,  and  steer  by  them,  and  let  the  rest  go.  Do  you 
suppose  I  don't  see  heaps  and  piles  of  things  I  hate? 
More  than  you  ever  will,  because  a  fellow  runs  up 
against  the  world  as  no  girl  does.  I  'd  like  to  be  able 
to  tell  you  I  see  none  but  sweet,  modest,  true  girls ;  but, 
honest,  I  see  fewer  of  them  than  the  other  kind.  Girls 
make  me  sick,  though  I  feel  mean  to  say  it;  they 
would  n't  if  I  did  n't  think  they  are  so  much  better  than 
we  are  when  they  are  nice.  You  see,  Phyllis,  girls  don't 
understand  that  the  whole  world  is  in  their  hands ;  we  're 
all  what  women,  young  and  old,  make  us.  Now,  you  and 
I  had  good  mothers  and  sisters.  When  I  went  away  my 
oldest  sister— she  's  past  thirty— talked  to  me.  'Shut 
your  eyes  to  the  bold  girls,  Tom,'  she  said,  'and  make 
no  woman  friend  you  would  not  introduce  to  your  sis- 
ters. Keep  your  ideals,  and  be  sure  there  will  always 
be  sweet,  wholesome  girls  to  save  the  world.'  So  I  have 
been  shutting  my  eyes  to  the  strong-minded  sisterhood, 


MARK   TAPLEY'S  KIND  OF  DAYS  97 

and  the  giddy  ones  too;  and  just  when  I  needed  you, 
because  I  was  getting  too  lonely,  the  Wyndhams  turned 
up,  thank  heaven !  So  you  '11  find  it,  Phyl ;  it  's  a  queer, 
crooked  old  world,  but  there  are  straight  folk  in  it. 
Keep  your  ideals,  miss,  as  my  sister  told  me,  and  'gang 
your  ways.'  And  don't  take  it  so  hard  that  there  is 
wrong  and  injustice  in  the  world.  That  's  being  morbid. 
You  '11  get  used  to  it;  it  's  only  your  first  plunge  that 
costs;  the  world  's  like  the  ocean  in  that.  And  there  's 
heaps  of  good  lying  around,  mixed  up  with  bad  too,  some- 
times, and  that  's  what  no  young  person  sees  at  first.  You 
know  I  am  ever  so  much  older  than  you  because  I  've  had 
my  eyes  opened  longer.  Don't  you  get  to  thinking  it  's  a 
bad  world ;  it  's  a  good  one.  The  Lord  saw  that,  and  said 
so,  when  it  was  first  made.  Thus  endeth  my  first  lesson. 
I  never  talked  so  much  in  my  life  at  a  stretch.  Come 
into  this  drug-store  for  hot  coffee ;  you  look  fagged. ' ' 

"You  're  such  a  comfort,  Tom,"  said  Phyllis.  "I  feel 
much  better.  There  was  no  use  in  talking  to  Jessamy 
or  Bab,  because  we  all  know  no  more  nor  less  than  one 
another,  but  I  wanted  straightening  out.  And  auntie 
looks  so  ill  of  late,  don't  you  think  so?" 

Tom  looked  very  serious.  ' '  I  think  she  is  ill,  Phyllis, ' ' 
he  said.  "There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  her,  except 
one  of  the  worst  things :  she  is  exhausted,  worn  out  with 
fret  and  trouble.  She  does  n't  get  enough  nourishment; 
she  needs  nursing. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  I  see  it,  Tom, ' '  cried  Phyllis,  as  they  left  the  soda- 
fountain.  "What  can  I  do?" 


98  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"Take  care  of  yourself,  for  one  thing;  you  don't  look 
right,  either,"  said  Tom. 

"I  feel  dragging— that  's  the  only  word  I  know  for 
it,"  said  Phyllis.  "And  Lionel  is  pale  and  languid.  I 
wonder  if  the  child  and  I  are  both  getting  ready  to 
be  ill." 

"Poor  little  beggar,  I  hope  he  is  n't,"  said  Tom; 
' '  but  that  would  be  nothing  to  your  coming  down.  I  'm 
going  to  fix  you  up  some  quinine  and  calisaya ;  I  am  not 
pleased  with  you  of  late,  Miss  Phyllis." 

Four  days  later  Phyllis  trailed  her  weary  way  home- 
ward. The  end  of  her  first  month  of  servitude  had  come ; 
the  twenty-five  dollars  she  had  thus  earned  lay  in  her 
pocket-book  in  four  new  bills.  Her  head  ached,  her  knees 
felt  strangely  unreliable,  her  spine  seemed  to  be  some 
one  else's,  so  burning  and  painful  it  felt  in  its  present 
place,  and  her  eyes  played  her  tricks  by  showing  her 
objects  in  false  positions  and  sizes  and  occasionally  flar- 
ing up  and  darkening  completely  for  a  dreadful  few 
seconds. 

Jessamy  met  her  at  the  door  with  an  anxious  face. 
"Mama  has  given  out  wholly,  Phyl,"  she  said.  "She 
is  in  bed  and  frightens  me,  she  looks  so  weak,  and  her 
heart  beats  unevenly  and  feebly. ' ' 

"That  's  bad,"  said  Phyllis,  so  indifferently  that  Jes- 
samy stared  in  amazement,  then  saw  with  utter  sinking 
of  her  heart  that  Phyllis  looked  desperately  ill  herself; 
if  Phyllis,  the  rock  they  all  leaned  on,  gave  out  now, 
what  should  she  do? 


MARK  TAPLEY'S  KIND  OF  DAYS  99 

"What  is  the  matter,  Phyl?"  she  cried,  putting  her 
arm  around  her  cousin. 

"I  have  no  idea.  My  head  aches  unbearably,  and  it 
seems  to  be  a  headache  that  reaches  to  the  soles  of  my 
feet,"  answered  Phyllis,  miserably.  "What  does  Tom 
say  about  auntie?" 

"He  thinks  it  is  just  complete  giving  out,  as  though 
that  were  n't  bad  enough!  And  he  made  me  send  for 
Doctor  Jerome;  he  says  he  would  n't  dare  take  the  re- 
sponsibility of  our  resting  on  his  opinion,  so  the  doctor 
is  to  come  soon,  J.  hope,"  said  Jessamy. 

"Yes,  that  's  right.  I  have  twenty-five  dollars  in  my 
purse;  that  will  pay  for  several  visits,  won't  it?"  asked 
Phyllis,  uncertainly;  she  dropped  her  hat  on  the  floor 
beside  her  and  pushed  the  hair  back  from  her  temples 
as  she  spoke,  resting  both  elbows  on  her  knees.  ' '  I  shall 
have  only  the  little  girls,  I  am  afraid,  for  a  time; 
Lionel  is  ill." 

"What  ails  him?"  demanded  Jessamy,  her  breath 
shortening;  suppose  it  were  something  dreadful,  and 
Phyllis  had  caught  the  infection ! 

"The  doctor  thought  it  might  be  typhoid;  it  was  too 
soon  to  tell,  he  said,"  replied  Phyllis. 

"Typhoid!     Is  that  contagious?"  demanded  Jessamy. 

"I  don't  know.  Don't  be  afraid,  Jessamy;  I  am  too 
full  of  pain  for  anything  else  to  get  in;  I  could  n't 
catch  it, ' '  said  Phyllis,  with  no  intention  to  be  humorous. 

Jessamy  waited  to  hear  no  more.  Running  across  to 
Tom's  room,  she  knocked  impatiently.  "Oh,  Tom,  dear 


100  THE   WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

Tom,  do  come  into  my  room,"  she  cried.  "Phyllis  has 
come  home  so  ill  I  am  more  frightened  about  her  than 
about  mama  now." 

They  found  Phyllis  exactly  as  Jessamy  had  left  her. 
Tom  felt  her  pulse;  her  hands  were  burning,  the  pulses 
galloping.  "She  must  lie  down  and  wait  till  the  doctor 
comes,"  said  Tom,  looking  grave.  "I  '11  give  her  some- 
thing sedative  that  can't  do  any  harm,  but  I  'd  rather 
not  do  anything  more.  Doctor  Jerome  ought  to  pre- 
scribe. Help  her  into  bed,  Jessamy,  and  don't  look  so 
hopeless,  dear  girl;  all  's  not  lost  save  honor,  even 
though  that  's  a  good  deal  to  have  left.  Phyllis  is  very 
likely  going  to  have  grip— the  real  thing,  not  a  cold 
under  that  name — and  though  that  is  bad  to  go  through, 
it  does  not  need  such  a  tragic  face  to  meet  it." 

But  Jessamy  would  not  smile.  ' '  The  Haines  boy  has  a 
fever;  the  doctor  thinks  it  may  be  typhoid;  is  that  con- 
tagious ? ' ' 

For  the  life  of  him,  Tom  could  not  repress  a  slight 
start;  then  he  bethought  himself,  and  answered  cheer- 
fully: "Not  a  bit— only  infectious.  Get  Phyllis  quiet  in 
bed,  and  try  not  to  borrow  trouble. ' ' 

But  as  he  crossed  the  hall  he  shook  his  head  like  an 
old  practitioner.  "Not  contagious— only  infectious,  is 
true;  but  Phyl  has  been  in  the  same  atmosphere  as  the 
boy,  and  may  have  contracted  it  under  the  same  condi- 
tions," he  said,  rubbing  Nixie's  head  absent-mindedly, 
as  the  little  dog  poked  it  into  his  hand.  "I  don't  like 
it,  Nixie,  old  man;  I  confess  I  don't  like  it." 


MARK  TAPLEY'S  KIND  OF  DAYS  101 

Doctor  Jerome  came  to  find  two  patients  instead  of 
one.  His  verdict  as  to  Mrs.  Wyndham  corroborated 
Tom's;  she  needed  nursing,  constant  nourishing,  utter 
rest,  and  cheer.  And,  to  make  sure  of  the  latter  prescrip- 
tion, there  was  Phyllis !  On  her  case  the  doctor  said  it 
was  much  too  early  to  pronounce ;  typhoid  was  mislead- 
ing in  its  first  symptoms,  sometimes;  but— yes,  it  might 
be  typhoid.  He  would  do  all  he  could  to  break  it  up, 
but  Phyllis  was  decidedly  ill.  Jessamy  must  have  a 
nurse,  even  though  Barbara  gave  up  her  employment 
to  help  her ;  they  were  both  too  inexperienced,  not  strong 
enough  to  undertake  cases  in  which  everything  depended 
on  the  nursing. 

Phyllis  did  not  resist  the  doctor's  verdict  that  she 
should  give  herself  up  to  being  ill,  though  Jessamy  fully 
expected  to  have  hard  work  persuading  her.  She  lay 
quite  passive,  her  dark  lashes  sweeping  her  crimsoned 
cheeks,  and  only  lifted  her  eyes  to  say,  "Tell  Mrs. 
Haines,"  and  then  sank  into  unnatural  slumber  again. 

Barbara  came  home  into  the  trouble  very  tired  and 
discouraged  over  her  own  uselessness;  she  who  had  felt 
so  confident  that  she  could  do  anything  had  thus  far 
been  able  to  earn  but  three  dollars  and  a  half  for  many 
hours'  labor;  in  the  old  days  she  had  spent  that  in  a 
week  at  Huyler's. 

Jessamy  and  she  had  a  consultation,  at  which  Tom 
assisted,  as  to  their  possibilities.  By  their  prudence  in 
living  within  their  income  the  Wyndhams  had  nearly 
four  hundred  dollars  a  year  more  than  their  actual  liv- 


102  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

ing  expenses  cost  them.  But  this  income  came  in  quar- 
terly; a  trained  nurse  would  cost  them  twenty-five  dol- 
lars a  week,  besides  her  board,  yet  Tom  and  Doctor  Jerome 
said  it  was  of  the  utmost  importance  to  have  the 
best  of  nurses.  "I  have  an  inspiration!"  cried  Tom. 
' '  There  's  a  fine  woman  I  know  of,  disengaged  now ;  she 
has  nursed  in  our  family,  and  she  's  all  right.  If  Doctor 
Jerome  approves,  I  '11  see  if  I  can  get  her,  and  I  am 
nearly  certain  she  would  come  for  me  for  fifteen  dollars 
a  week. ' ' 

' '  Then  I  must  see  Mrs.  Black  as  to  her  terms ;  and  how 
about  the  arrangement  of  the  rooms?"  asked  Jessamy. 

"The  two  patients  must  be  separate;  that  goes  with- 
out saying,"  said  Tom.  "You  and  Bab  will  use  my 
room,  and  the  nurse  will  take  her  share  of  rest  where 
it  suits  her." 

' '  And  where  will  you  sleep,  you  dear,  generous  boy  ? ' ' 
cried  Jessamy. 

' '  I  have  a  friend  I  can  bunk  with  till  you  are  through 
with  the  room,"  said  Tom.  "It  won't  trouble  me  a  bit, 
so  don't  call  me  names,  princess." 

Jessamy  interviewed  their  landlady,  and  had  a  tem- 
pestuous time.  Mrs.  Black  refused  at  first  to  allow  her 
house  to  be  turned  into  a  hospital;  then  she  demanded 
an  exorbitant  sum  for  the  nurse's  board,  although  the 
room  was  not  to  be  included.  At  last,  when  Jessamy, 
calling  up  the  spirit  which  usually  lay  dormant  under 
her  quiet  manner,  threatened  removing  both  her  charges 
to  a  hospital  and  leaving  the  house  at  once,  Mrs.  Black 


MARK  TAPLEY'S  KIND  OF  DAYS  103 

compromised,  with  a  mental  reservation  to  get  even  in 
the  end,  as  the  girls  suspected  from  her  subsequent 
behavior. 

It  would  have  been  wiser  to  have  taken  Mrs.  Wyndham 
and  Phyllis  to  a  good  hospital,  where  a  private  room 
would  have  been  no  heavier  drain  on  their  purse  than  the 
present  arrangement,  and  the  accommodations  better ;  but 
Jessamy  was  so  shocked  at  the  proposition  that  Doctor 
Jerome  waived  the  point,  and  the  nursing  began  at  home. 
Tom 's  good  woman  came ;  she  was  the  kindest  soul  in  the 
world,  and  no  less  competent  than  kind.  Barbara  gave 
up  her  envelops  to  help  Jessamy.  With  two  patients 
she  was  needed,  and  even  then  there  were  hardly  hands 
enough  to  render  the  service  required.  Tom  ran  in  and 
out  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night ;  Jessamy  felt  that  if 
she  lived  ninety-nine  years  she  never  could  repay  him 
for  his  help  and  cheer,  though  she  devoted  her  life  to  try- 
ing to  do  so. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  lay  in  that  wearying  state  of  feebleness 
peculiar  to  exhausted  nerves ;  there  was  no  actual  danger, 
unless  it  were  the  danger  of  continued  prostration.  But 
Phyllis  grew  more  ill ;  twice  a  day  the  old  doctor  came  to 
watch  her  progress.  The  typhoid  symptoms  did  not  de- 
velop positively,  but  she  burned  with  a  low  fever,  and  no 
one  could  foretell  the  end. 

Out  of  the  five  hundred  dollars  coming  to  the  Wynd- 
hams  quarterly  from  their  total  income,  there  was  an  ex- 
cess over  necessary  expenditures  amounting  to  something 
like  ninety  dollars.  This  was  all  the  capital  Jessamy  had 


104  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

in  hand  to  meet  the  present  emergency ;  and  underlying 
all  her  other  anxieties  was  the  dreadful  fear  that  she 
should  be  obliged  to  borrow  of  Aunt  Henrietta  to  tide 
herself  through  the  double  illness  which  had  come  upon 
them.  For  her  mother  required  all  sorts  of  expensive 
food  preparations,  and  Jessamy  realized  that  her  little 
fund  would  not  take  them  further  on  the  hard  road  than 
three  weeks'  distance,  when  out  of  it  she  had  to  pay  a 
nurse,  and  that  nurse's  board. 

Christmas  was  coming — the  Christmas  they  had 
dreaded,  at  best,  to  meet  in  a  boarding-house,  the  first 
since  they  had  become  homeless ;  but  now  what  a  Christ- 
mas it  was !  Barbara,  sitting,  as  she  did  every  moment 
that  the  nurse  would  intrust  Phyllis  to  her,  close  by  her 
cousin's  bed,  thought,  with  quietly  falling  tears,  of  what 
Phyllis  had  always  said,  that  nothing  mattered  while  they 
had  one  another.  What  if  they  were  not  always  to  have 
one  another?  What  if  Phyllis  herself — dear,  unselfish, 
sweet  Phyllis— was  to  be  the  one  to  go  away,  leaving  for- 
ever a  void  which  no  one  could  fill  ? 

For  Phyllis  had  become  delirious,  and  raved  cease- 
lessly of  the  horrible  faces  grinning  and  mowing  around 
her  bed;  of  the  recent  troubles,  begging  pitifully  to  be 
taken  home  and  laid  in  her  own  big,  pretty  room  where 
her  head  would  not  ache  so.  And  she  did  not  know 
Barbara  nor  Jessamy,  but  confounded  them  with  Mrs. 
Haines,  and  implored  them  by  turns  to  love  the  children, 
for  Lionel  was  ill,  and  his  head  was  aching  inside  of 
hers,  which  made  him  and  "poor  Phyllis"  both  worse, 


MARK  TAPLEY'S  KIND  OF  DAYS  105 

and  they  might  die,  and  then  his  mother  would  never 
forgive  herself.  She  always  spoke  of  herself  as  "poor 
Phyllis,"  apparently  with  some  dim  idea  that  she  was 
unlike  herself— another  personality— and  invariably 
ended  every  burst  of  delirium  with  the  same  appeal  for 
mercy,  and  to  be  taken  home  again.  Barbara  had  never 
seen  delirium ;  these  ravings  nearly  broke  her  heart,  and 
took  every  particle  of  hope  out  of  her.  In  vain  Doctor 
Jerome  and  Tom,  whom  she  trusted  even  more,  told  her 
it  was  nothing  unusual.  Bab,  the  light-hearted,  re- 
fused to  fulfil  her  title,  but  sat  stonily,  looking  forward 
to  Phyllis 's  death. 

Jessamy,  more  equable,  kept  up  a  little  courage;  but 
she  too  was  utterly  inexperienced,  and  it  was  very  hard 
for  her  to  hope  for  Phyllis 's  recovery. 

And  so  Christmas  eve  dawned  grimly  enough  upon 
the  two  poor  girls,  and  on  them  alone,  for  Mrs.  Wynd- 
ham  was  too  weak  to  give  more  than  a  sick  woman's 
passing  thought  to  the  day,  and  to  Phyllis  there  was 
neither  day  nor  night. 

Doctor  Jerome  came  that  morning,  and  looked  more 
anxious  than  ever.  "Your  mother  is  doing  fairly,"  he 
said;  "but  this  little  girl  does  not  mend.  Nurse,  if 
you  will  get  your  scissors,  I  think  this  heavy  hair  must 
come  off." 

"Oh,  don't— please  don't  cut  off  Phyllis 's  beautiful 
hair,"  cried  Bab,  while  Jessamy  clasped  her  hands, 
mutely  making  the  same  appeal. 

"Nonsense,  Bab;  it  will  relieve  her  more  than  you 


106  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

can  imagine,"  said  Tom,  sharply,  who  had  followed  the 
doctor  into  the  room.  "It  would  all  fall,  anyway,  after 
such  an  illness.  It  is  better  for  the  hair;  but  if  it 
were  n't,  it  would  still  require  doing.  Pray,  be  sen- 
sible." 

The  nurse  brought  the  scissors,  and  with  a  few  strokes 
the  long,  warm,  dark  masses  of  hair  lay  on  the  quilt. 
"That  's  better,"  said  the  doctor,  as  Phyllis  moved  her 
head  as  though  at  once  conscious  of  relief.  He  left  a 
few  additional  directions  for  the  nurse,  and  went  away. 
Phyllis 's  hair  lay  on  a  paper  on  the  table;  the  sunlight, 
resting  on  it,  brought  out  its  rich  reddish  tint.  Tom 
lifted  a  tress  tenderly.  "Poor,  sweet  Phyllis,"  he  said. 
Jessamy  turned  away  to  the  window,  without  a  word. 
What  a  Christmas  eve,  indeed ! 


CHAPTER  VII 

TAKING  ARMS   AGAINST  A  SEA  OF  TROUBLES 

'  HRISTM AS  morning  dawned  clear  and 
cold,  with  a  few  errant  snowflakes 
drifting  on  the  wind  as  if  to  show  New 
York  that  the  great  Northwest  had 
not  forgotten  her,  but  had  only  de- 
layed its  Christmas  box  of  winter 
weather  for  a  little  while. 

It  is  hard  wholly  to  escape  the  universal  joy  in  the 
Christmas  air;  and,  in  spite  of  anxiety,  Jessamy  and 
Barbara  felt  more  hopeful  than  they  had  the  night  be- 
fore. Then  little  crumbs  of  comfort  floated  their  way 
in  the  morning,  as  the  snowflakes  were  floating  without. 
Beautiful  flowers  came  to  Mrs.  Wyndham  from  Mr. 
Hurd  and  other  friends,  and  the  expressman  had  left 
some  packages  for  the  girls  late  the  preceding  night, 
which  the  chambermaid  with  the  chronically  dust- 
branded  forehead  brought  up  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning. 

Relations  had  been  strained  between  the  three  Wynd- 
ham girls  and  the  less  fortunate  trio  who  sat  opposite 

107 


108  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

them  at  table;  Jessamy,  Phyllis,  and  Bab,  finding  their 
overtures  of  peace  misunderstood  and  rejected,  had  given 
up  making  them.  But  this  morning  the  Christmas  spirit 
seemed  reflected  in  the  softer  looks  under  the  towering 
pompadours  across  from  them,  and,  hearing  May  Daly 
say  that  she  was  "dreadful  sorry  they  had  n't  any 
flowers  for  the  dance  that  evenin',"  Jessamy  ventured  to 
suggest  that  her  mother  had  received  lovely  roses,  which 
she  would  be  glad  to  share  with  her  neighbors  if  they 
would  accept  them. 

"You  're  real  kind,"  said  Daisy  Heimberger,  flush- 
ing with  pleasure.  "If  you  've  got  so  many  you  '11 
have  enough  for  your  ma  and  we,  they  'd  be  about  's 
nice  a  Christmas  card  as  you  could  give  us." 

"We  '11  accept  them  with  pleasure,  and  be  much 
obliged,"  added  May  Daly,  who,  the  Wyndhams  had 
learned,  was  more  ambitious  than  either  of  her  friends. 

"We  was  sayin'  this  mornin'  that  it  must  be  a  sor- 
rowful kind  of  Christmas  to  you,  and  we  'd  like  to  show 
we  thought  of  you  if  we  knew  how,  or  you  would  n't 
be  mad,"  added  Fanny  Harmon. 

"That  was  lovely,"  said  Jessamy,  heartily,  flushing 
in  her  turn,  and  wondering  that  she  felt  so  glad  of  a 
kind  word  from  one  of  these  girls.  "We  have  had  a 
good  many  more  merry  Christmases,  but  we  won't  mind 
if  only  my  mother  and  cousin  get  well— '  She  stopped 
abruptly. 

"Don't  you  fret,"  said  Daisy  Heimberger,  coming 
around  to  pat  dignified  Jessamy  kindly  on  the  shoulder. 


TAKING  ARMS  AGAINST  A  SEA  OF  TROUBLES    109 

"I  wish  you  was  goin'  to  the  dance  to-night  like  us; 
but  your  turn  '11  come,  sure,  an'  most  likely  your  ma 
and  sister  '11  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two. ' ' 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jessamy,  gratefully,  while  Bab 
added:  "We  're  very  glad  you  are  going  to  have  a  nice 
time,  if  we  can 't ;  but  we  shall  be  happier  if  we  can  add  to 
your  pleasure  with  the  flowers.  We  '11  send  them  down, 
and  if  you  wrap  them  in  wet  newspapers  and  lay  them 
outside  on  your  window-sill  in  the  shade  they  won't  open, 
but  will  be  just  right  to  wear  to-night.  We  have  lots, 
so  don 't  be  afraid  to  take  what  we  send. ' ' 

"All  right;  we  '11  do  something  for  you  if  ever  we 
can, ' '  said  May  Daly.  ' '  So  long,  and  I  hope  you  '11  have 
something  nice  happen  to  you  to-day." 

This  little  incident  made  both  Jessamy  and  Bab  feel 
that  the  sun  shone  brighter;  it  is  such  a  pleasant  thing 
to  feel  one  can  add  even  a  trifle  to  some  one's  happiness, 
and  every  one's  good  wishes  and  liking  are  worth  having. 

Then  the  postman  came,  and  brought  Christmas  greet- 
ings for  the  girls  from  several  of  their  old  friends,  and 
a  letter  from  Mrs.  Van  Alyn,  with  an  ivy-leaf  from 
Stratford-on-Avon  for  Phyllis,  a  photograph  of  Botti- 
celli's beautiful  little  picture  of  the  "Nativity"  in  the 
National  Gallery  for  Jessamy,  and  for  Bab  an  oak-leaf 
from  the  sleepy  old  English  town  whence  the  first  an- 
cestor of  the  Wyndhams  had  sailed  away  to  America 
two  hundred  years  before.  But,  Best  and  most  wonder- 
ful of  all,  he  brought  a  note  from  Aunt  Henrietta,  which 
Jessamy  read  aloud  to  Bab  after  they  got  up-stairs. 


110  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

"  'My  dear  nieces,'  "  it  ran,  "  'I  am  concerned  to 
hear  that  your  mother  and  Phyllis  are  ill,  though  it 
would  be  more  becoming  if  you  had  acquainted  me  with 
the  fact  directly,  rather  than  leave  me  to  learn  it  cir- 
cuitously  through  Mrs.  Haines.  I  trust  Phyllis  is  not 
going  to  have  typhoid,  like  the  Haines  child.  Also  that 
your  mother  will  try  to  overcome  her  natural  weakness. 
It  is  a  pity  she  has  none  of  the  Wyndham  endurance. '  ' 

"Yet  dear  papa  died,  not  Madrina,"  interrupted  Bab. 

"  'I  should  have  been  to  see  you,'  "  continued  Jes- 
samy,  "  'but  that  I  myself  have  been  suffering.  I  have 
had  a  severe  attack  of  bronchitis,  and  the  doctor  thought 
I  should  not  escape  appendicitis — 

"Mercy!  They  're  not  much  alike,  except  in  having 
that  horrible  long-i  sound!"  exclaimed  Bat),  who  grew 
what  Tom  called  "Babbish"  the  moment  pressure  on 
her  spirits  was  relaxed. 

"Do  be  still,  Babbie,"  cried  Jessamy,  and  read  on: 
"  'Escape  appendicitis,  but  the  symptoms  were  caused, 
as  you  may  conjecture,  by  acute  indigestion.  When  I 
am  able  to  be  out,  I  shall  go  to  see  you.  In  the  mean- 
time, I  send  you  each  a  small  Christmas  remembrance, 
which  may  be  useful  to  you  in  your  present  circum- 
stances. Your  affectionate  aunt,  Henrietta  Hewlett.'  " 

The  small  Christmas  remembrance  was  a  check  for 
twenty-five  dollars  for  each  member  of  the  family.  Jes- 
samy snatched  them  up  greedily.  No  one  knew  how  she 
had  dreaded  applying  to  Aunt  Henrietta  for  a  loan,  and 
now  Aunt  Henrietta  herself  had  precluded  the  neces- 


TAKING  ARMS  AGAINST  A  SEA  OF  TROUBLES    111 

sity.  A  hundred  dollars!  It  would  carry  them  more 
than  two  weeks  beyond  the  New  Year,  when  their  interest 
came  in;  and  perhaps  before  this  windfall  was  used  up 
they  might  be  able  to  dispense  with  the  nurse.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  be  hopeful  about  anything  with  money  anxieties 
to  corrode  one's  heart,  and  for  the  first  time  Jessamy 
and  Bab  looked  down  on  their  two  dear  patients  with 
courage,  and  pressed  each  other's  waists  with  their  en- 
circling arms,  feeling  very  grateful  for  the  relief  Christ- 
mas had  brought  them,  and  something  very  like  love  for 
Aunt  Henrietta,  who,  in  spite  of  ways  all  her  own,  had 
done  a  really  beautiful  thing. 

Mrs.  Black  rose  to  the  requirements  of  the  festival, 
and  gave  ' '  her  guests ' '  an  unwonted  feast.  Mrs.  Wynd- 
ham  took  little  bits  of  the  delicate  meat  around  the  tur- 
key wishbone  with  more  relish  than  she  had  shown  for 
anything  since  her  breaking  down. 

After  dinner  Ruth  Wells  came  down,  her  basket  on 
her  arm,  like  a  happy  combination  of  Little  Red  Riding 
Hood  and  Little  Mabel,  whose  " willing  mind"  could 
not  have  been  as  ready  to  serve  others  as  kindly  Ruth's. 
Out  of  her  basket  she  produced  a  veil-case  for  Jessamy, 
a  handkerchief-case  for  Bab,  a  glove-case  for  Phyllis, 
all  embroidered  in  tiny  Dresden  flowers  and  wreaths  on 
white  linen,  not  in  her  spare  moments— for  Ruth  had 
no  spare  moments— but  in  the  moments  she  had  pilfered 
from  her  work  for  her  friends.  And  for  the  sick  ones 
were  clear  jellies  and  a  mold  of  blanc-mange,  with  bits 
of  holly  stuck  blithely  in  the  top. 


112  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"Oh,  Ruth,  how  could  you  make  all  these,  and  how 
did  you  get  them  down  here?"  cried  Jessamy. 

' '  That  comes  of  having  one 's  flat,  and  not  boarding, ' ' 
laughed  Ruth.  "At  least,  as  far  as  the  making  goes. 
As  to  getting  them  down,  a  little  more  or  less,  once  you 
have  a  basket,  does  n't  matter.  Your  mother  looks  ever 
so  much  brighter. ' ' 

' '  Yes ;  she  ate  with  a  little  appetite  to-day.  But  Phyl- 
lis does  n  't  seem  to  change.  And,  oh,  Ruth !  They  have 
cut  off  her  hair ! ' '  said  Bab. 

"Well,"  said  Ruth,  stoutly,  "what  of  it?  You  speak 
as  though  it  were  her  head.  I  suppose  it  won't  be  like 
the  raveled-yarn  hair  on  the  knit  doll  I  had  when  I  was 
a  little  tot;  I  cut  that  once  when  he  was  going  to  a 
party,  and  was  dreadfully  grieved  that  it  never  grew 
again.  Phyllis 's  will,  I  suspect." 

"Come  and  see  her,"  said  Jessamy.  Ruth  followed. 
She  really  was  a  wonderfully  comforting  girl.  Not  a 
shadow  of  regret  could  Jessamy  and  Bab,  watching  her 
closely,  detect  as  she  looked  on  poor  shorn  Phyllis,  lying 
quietly  just  then,  the  delirium  past.  Instead,  Ruth  said 
cheerily:  "It  will  probably  grow  out  in  little  soft  curls 
all  over  her  head,  and  how  pretty  she  will  look!" 

And,  as  if  to  reward  Ruth  for  her  goodness,  Phyllis 
opened  her  eyes,  smiled  faintly,  and  said:  "I  'm  lazy, 
Ruth." 

It  was  the  first  sign  of  recognition  she  had  given  since 
she  became  unconscious,  and  Jessamy  and  Bab  clutched 
each  other  with  speechless  joy.  To  be  sure,  Phyllis  said 


TAKING  ARMS  AGAINST  A  SEA  OF  TROUBLES    113 

no  more,  but  dropped  away  again  into  that  mysterious 
space  wherein  the  sick  seem  to  exist,  and  Tom  was  gone 
home  to  keep  the  holidays  with  his  family,  so  they  could 
not  fly,  as  they  longed  to  do,  to  ask  some  one  just  how 
good  a  symptom  this  might  be.  But  the  nurse  told  them 
that  though  it  might  mean  little,  it  was  encouraging; 
and  Jessamy  and  Bab  resolved  to  take  it  at  its  highest 
valuation— to  get  all  the  joy  they  could  out  of  a  Christ- 
mas which  was  not  too  bright  at  best. 

Bab  went  out  with  Ruth  for  a  breath  of  air,  and  they 
walked  up  town,  passing  one  or  two  elevated-road  sta- 
tions which  Ruth  might  have  used,  but  that  she  pre- 
ferred keeping  Bab  company.  They  came  to  a  little 
church ;  its  doors  were  ajar,  and  Bab  proposed  entering. 
"I  think  I  feel  like  church,"  she  said,  and  Ruth  under- 
stood that  tired  Babbie  craved  support  and  help.  So 
she  did  not  suggest  that  she  was  due  at  home,  but  went 
in  willingly.  A  strong  odor  of  spruce  and  pine  filled 
the  air,  together  with  a  kind  of  close  sweetness,  the  lin- 
gering reminder  of  incense  used  in  the  morning  service. 

"It  must  be  a  Catholic  church,"  whispered  Ruth. 
"What  do  you  suppose  that  is  on  the  side  where  every- 
body is  kneeling?"  The  girls  followed  two  women  who 
had  preceded  them  up  the  aisle,  and  came  to  a  curious 
scene  at  the  altar-rails.  On  the  right  side  a  small  grotto 
of  firs  had  been  made,  with  rocks  represented  by  un- 
mistakable painted  canvas.  At  the  back  of  the  grotto 
were  little  figures,  dressed  in  bright  colors,  mounted  on 
camels,  coming  in  procession  down  the  rocks  toward 


114  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

the  foreground.  And  in  that  foreground  were  far  larger 
figures,  some  shepherds  with  lambs  on  their  shoulders, 
an  ox  and  an  ass,  a  man  leaning  on  a  staff,  a  young 
woman  dressed  in  blue,  with  a  white  veil  floating  back- 
ward, all  adoring  a  tiny  infant,  lying,  with  little  hands 
clasped,  on  straw  in  the  middle  of  the  group. 

"It  must  represent  Bethlehem,  and  the  birth  of 
Christ,"  whispered  Barbara. 

"Is  n't  it  queer?  And  do  see  those  funny  little  Wise 
Men  on  the  camels,  and  the  big  tinsel  star,"  returned 
Ruth. 

"Don't,  Ruth,"  said  Bab.  She  saw  that  the  repre- 
sentation was  childish,  far  from  artistic,  and  yet  that  it 
had  another  kind  of  beauty.  For  old  women  and  men 
were  kneeling  around  it  at  prayer,  with  rapt  faces  or 
wet  cheeks,  evidently  carried  back  to  the  first  Christmas ; 
and  little  children  came  and  went  hand  in  hand,  kneel- 
ing a  brief  time  before  this  quaint  reminder  of  Bethle- 
hem, then  going  decorously  away.  Sometimes,  as  the 
girls  watched,  funny  round  tots,  in  faded  hoods  or  with 
tattered  caps  in  hand,  would  rise  from  kneeling  on  the 
altar-step,  so  high  to  them  that  their  shabby  shoes  stuck 
straight  out  in  the  air,  and  make  a  bobbing  curtsy  of 
farewell  with  the  best  of  intentions,  but  with  their  backs 
frequently  turned  toward  the  Bethlehem  where  their 
serious  faces  should  have  been.  It  was  droll,  but  it  was 
touching.  Barbara  was  endowed  by  nature  with  the 
simplicity  and  love  which  enabled  her  to  see  beyond  the 
ugly  colors,  the  tinsel,  the  inartistic  figures,  and  grasp 


TAKING  ARMS  AGAINST  A  SEA  OF  TROUBLES    115 

the  love  and  faith  they  were  meant  to  awaken.  It  was 
a  simple  representation,  for  simple  people,  and  Bar- 
bara saw  for  what  it  stood. 

She  knelt  in  a  pew,  watching  the  strange  scene,  and 
feeling  as  though  some  magic  had  transported  her  far 
from  New  York  to  a  distant  European  village;  but  as 
she  watched  and  wondered,  wordlessly  her  heart  prayed 
too  among  these  imploring  visitors  to  the  manger. 
"Mama,  Phyllis;  mama,  Phyllis,"  she  thought,  but  the 
thought  was  a  prayer,  every  pulse  and  heart-beat  cry- 
ing out  for  those  she  loved. 

At  last  they  left  the  dark  church,  lighted  only  by  the 
reflector  behind  the  star  and  a  light  above  the  altar. 
"Did  you  ever  see  anything  like  it?"  said  Ruth,  who 
had  been  less  touched  by  the  scene  than  Barbara. 

"  No ;  it  is  so  foreign  and  queer,  but  I  think  I  see  what 
it  means,"  said  Bab,  slowly.  "Only  fancy  there  being 
such  quaint  things  among  us!  If  we  went  to  Europe, 
and  saw  what  we  have  seen  on  Christmas,  we  should 
write  long  letters  home,  and  probably  you  would  think 
it  pretty  in  Italy,  Ruth." 

"Well,  I  don't  see  how  it  could  be  pretty,  but  I  sup- 
pose it  has  a  kind  of  beauty,  too.  I  am  glad  we  went  in. 
I  '11  take  the  train  here,  Bab,  for  I  'm  late  already. 
Keep  up  heart ;  everything  is  coming  right  for  you,  and 
Phyllis  is  better,  or  she  would  n't  have  known  me." 

"Thank  you,  Ruthy;  you  're  so  heartening.  I  wish 
mama  could  take  you  for  a  tonic.  I  'm  sure  I  don't 
know  any  other  equal  to  you,"  said  Bab'.  And  she  went 


116  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

her  way  alone,  quickening  her  steps,  for  it  was  growing 
dusk,  and  feeling  comforted  by  the  quiet  quarter  of  an 
hour  in  the  little  dim  church,  where  she  had  poured  her 
heart  out  silently  and  it  had  come  back  to  her  refreshed. 

The  last  seven  days  of  the  year  slipped  by  with  alter- 
nations of  hope  and  fear  for  Phyllis  filling  Jessamy  and 
Barbara's  moments, — for  Phyllis,  because  the  question 
of  whether  she  was  to  throw  off  the  fever  or  settle  down 
to  long  typhoid  was  determining,  and  Mrs.  Wyndham's 
condition  involved  no  present  danger.  On  the  whole, 
hope  predominated ;  the  times  in  which  Phyllis  had  lucid 
moments  grew  more  frequent  and  longer.  Doctor  Je- 
rome looked  more  cheerful  each  day. 

But  finally,  as  if  she  knew  that  the  time  of  good  reso- 
lutions and  amendment  had  come,  on  the  closing  night 
of  the  year  Phyllis  threw  off  the  last  trace  of  her  fever 
and  lay  weak  and  white,  but  smiling  and  conscious,  to 
greet  the  New  Year's  dawn. 

Tom  and  Nixie  came  back  just  in  time  to  hear  the 
good  news  and  rejoice  with  the  grateful  girls,  bringing 
cheer  with  them;  altogether,  Jessamy  felt  that  night, 
when  she  lay  down  to  sleep,  that  her  troubles  were  nearly 
over,  and  she  saw  light  ahead. 

She  had  yet  to  learn  that  the  long  days  of  convales- 
cence held  trials  greater  than  those  she  had  borne,  though 
the  haunting  fear  that  had  hung  over  her  during  Phyl- 
lis's  danger  was  relieved. 

In  the  first  place,  the  January  days  fulfilled  the  old 
prophecy  of  increased  cold,  with  longer  hours  of  light; 


TAKING  ARMS  AGAINST  A  SEA  OF  TEOUBLES    117 

and  the  little  stoves,  to  which  she  and  Bab  offered  up 
holocausts  of  knuckles  and  finger-tips,  tried  them  almost 
past  endurance. 

"It  really  is  n't  the  stove  which  bothers  us,"  said 
Bab,  falling  back  on  her  heels  as  she  knelt  before  it,  and 
raising  a  discouraged  and  smutty  face  to  Jessamy. 
"The  stove  is  like  the  rest  of  us— it  would  work  better  if 
it  could  get  something  to  consume." 

That  was  true;  it  took  constant  battling  to  keep  coal 
on  hand  to  replenish  the  fire.  Mrs.  Black  was  not  inter- 
ested in  fuel,  or,  more  correctly,  she  was  interested  in 
it  to  keep  the  supply  low,  and  the  result  was  that  the 
swift-drawing  cylinder  stoves  were  precariously  near 
being  fireless  half  the  time. 

The  matter  of  getting  food  for  their  convalescents 
kept  Jessamy  and  Barbara's  nerves  quivering.  Even 
when  they  sacrificed  their  own  dinners,  and  toiled  up- 
stairs again  with  clumsy  trays,  hoping  to  get  a  warm 
chop,  bowl  of  soup,  or  slice  of  beef  to  their  mother  or 
Phyllis,  who  was  pathetically  hungry  and  begged  for 
plenty  to  eat,  they  failed  in  their  object,  though  they 
went  hungry  themselves  to  attain  it. 

They  bought  chops  and  gave  them  to  Mrs.  Black  to  be 
cooked,  bribing  the  cook  to  do  them  nicely ;  but  the  meat 
that  had  looked  so  succulent  and  juicy  when  it  was  cut, 
reappeared  dry  and  blackened,  with  congealing  fat 
around  the  edges  of  the  plate,  or  else  was  so  rare  that 
Phyllis's  hungry  eyes  filled  with  tears  at  the  sight  of  it. 

They  bought  beef  and  glass  jars,  and  tried  extracting 


118  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

the  juice  in  cold  water  and  salt,  as  Mrs.  Wells  taught 
them  to  do;  and  they  got  a  broiling- fork  and  cooked 
chops  over  the  coals  in  their  stoves  till  the  irascible  old 
man  below  them  and  Mrs.  Hardy,  who  disapproved  of 
the  Wyndhams'  friendship  for  Tom,  complained  to  the 
landlady  of  the  odor  of  broiling.  Jessamy  began  to  have 
a  little  line  between  her  eyes,  and  her  sweet  voice  grew 
almost  sharp  from  nervous  strain,  while  Bab,  though  she 
really  struggled  hard  to  "  be  good, ' '  as  she  said,  found  her 
naturally  quick  temper  roused  beyond  her  ability  to  curb 
it  in  the  effort  to  obtain  justice,  if  not  kindness,  for  her 
dear  patients,  whose  recovery  depended  on  proper  care. 

For  a  month  the  two  poor  little  heroines  struggled  on 
in  a  daily  round  of  petty  annoyances  that  were  not  petty 
when  one  considered  what  they  involved. 

"We  're  getting  awful,  Jessamy,"  said  Bab,  tearfully, 
one  night.  "We  're  getting  sharp-tempered,  nervous, 
hard,  and  where  shall  we  end?" 

"Come  in  here,  girls,"  called  Phyllis 's  voice,  still 
tremulous,  from  the  next  room.  "Bring  Tom." 

Tom  and  Nixie  had  resumed  their  old  quarters  since 
the  nurse  had  gone,  and  they  both  came  as  readily  as 
they  always  did  when  Jessamy  and  Barbara  called  them. 

"I  heard  what  you  said,  Babbie,"  said  Phyllis,  mo- 
tioning Tom  to  the  seat  of  honor,  and  making  Nixie  wel- 
come by  her  side  in  the  big  chair.  "I  heard  you  say 
you.  were  getting  horrid,  and  I  've  been  seeing  what  a 
hard  time  you  were  having,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  what 
we  're  going  to  do." 


TAKING  ARMS  AGAINST  A  SEA  OF  TROUBLES    119 

"It  sounds  rather  solemn,  Phyl,"  said  Jessaray, 
"summoning  us  to  a  conclave  like  this.  If  we  're  going 
to  do  anything  bad,  don't  tell  us  to-night." 

Phyllis  laughed.  "Hand  me  that  book,  Bab,  please," 
she  said,  and  Bab  wonderingly  gave  her  a  volume  she 
had  been  reading  that  afternoon.  Phyllis  produced  from 
it  a  sheet  of  paper  covered  with  figures.  "What  we  're 
going  to  do,"  she  said,  "or  what  I  am  going  to  do,  is  go 
to  housekeeping." 

There  was  a  shout  of  laughter  from  her  auditors,  after 
a  moment  of  surprised  silence. 

"You  look  like  housekeeping  just  now,"  said  Bab. 

"I  look  less  like  boarding,"  said  Phyllis,  stoutly. 
"Ruth  Wells  is  perfectly  right;  we  should  be  far  better 
off  in  a  little  home  of  our  own— 'be  it  ever  so  humble.' 
It  takes  strong— no,  I  mean  tough  people  to  get  on  with- 
out home  comforts.  You  and  Jessamy  are  getting  ut- 
terly worn  out,  as  nervous  and  fretted  as  you  can  be, 
and  if  you  put  half  the  strength  it  takes  to  live  this  way 
into  healthy  housework  you  would  have  everything  you 
need  and  not  be  tired,  still  less  cross. ' ' 

"Phyllis  is  right!"  exclaimed  Tom.  "It  's  a  miser- 
able way  to  live." 

"Of  course  I  'm  right,"  said  Phyllis;  "only  this  is  n't 
living.  Now,  I  've  been  figuring,"  and  she  held  up  her 
sheet  of  paper.  ' '  It  costs  us  fourteen  hundred  and  fifty- 
six  dollars  a  year  to  board  as  we  are  boarding  now.  Our 
washing  is  about  three  dollars  a  week— that  is  a  hundred 
and  fifty-six  dollars  a  year— and  that  makes  sixteen  hun- 


120  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

dred  and  twelve  dollars.  Then,  I  don't  know  what  you 
are  spending  besides  for  all  these  nourishing  things 
auntie  and  I  are  having. ' ' 

"I  do,"  said  Jessamy,  with  a  half-humorous,  half- 
genuine  sigh. 

"I  am  sure  you  do,  and  that  it  is  awful,"  said  Phyl- 
lis. "Well,  now,  listen;  we  are  going  to  take  a  flat, 
wherever  we  can  find  it,  and  the  best  for  the  money, 
at  forty  dollars  a  month.  We  are  going  to  have  a  woman 
come  in  two  days  in  the  week,  to  wash,  iron,  and  sweep, 
at  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  a  day,  and  that  is  a  hundred 
and  thirty  dollars  a  year.  And  we  are  going  to  cook  on 
gas,  and  spend  about  six  dollars  a  month  for  our 
gas— Ruth  said  so — and  that  is  seventy-two  dollars  more. 
And  we  're  going  to  live  plainly,  but  have  nice,  whole- 
some things  to  eat,  and  all  we  want,  for  six  hundred  a 
year— Ruth  told  me  that  too,  and  she  knows— and  that 
makes  a  total  of  thirteen  hundred  dollars,  allowing  a  lit- 
tle margin.  That  's  three  hundred  dollars  less  than  we 
spend  now;  and  who  would  n't  rather  live  in  her  own 
dear  little  home,  with  all  scratchy,  maddening  things  and 
people  shut  out  ? ' ' 

Phyllis  stopped,  breathless,  and  the  others  had  listened 
in  so  much  the  same  condition  that  it  was  a  moment  be- 
fore any  one  spoke.  Then  Bab  leaped  to  her  feet  and 
ran  over  to  hug  Phyllis  in  rapture.  "You  dear,  quiet, 
splendid  old  Phyllistine ! "  she  cried.  "It  's  just  bliss- 
fully lovely.  To  think  of  you  being  the  one  to  do  it, 
when  you  're  still  so  weak  and  forlorn!" 


TAKING  ARMS  AGAINST  A  SEA  OF  TROUBLES    121 

"Ask  me  to  tea,  have  me  up  to  help,  and  let  me  catch 
the  crumbs  from  your  table,"  said  Tom.  ''Phyllis, 
you  're  a  trump,  and  you  've  saved  the  day ! ' ' 

"Crumbs  from  the  table!"  cried  Jessamy,  catching 
her  breath.  ' '  That  's  just  it.  It  is  a  dream,  Phyl ;  but 
how  in  the  wide  world  can  we  do  it?  There  won't  be 
any  crumbs  from  the  table,  nor  anything  to  eat;  we 
don't  know  anything,  any  of  us;  I  'm  not  sure  mama 
understands  cooking." 

"Auntie  can  direct  a  cook;  I  've  heard  her  do  it," 
said  Phyllis.  "And  as  to  anything  to  eat,  we  '11  learn 
a  few  necessary  things,  and  do  them  every  day  if  we 
have  to.  But  I  'm  not  afraid,  with  a  good  cook-book 
and  Ruth  to  ask.  It  's  better  than  this  at  the  worst,  and 
we  shall  save  money,  too.  As  to  that,  if  we  failed  we 
could  have  one  servant  and  still  spend  no  more  than  we 
do  now.  You  and  Bab  go  out  to  look  for  flats  to-morrow. 
You  '11  see  I  am  right. ' ' 

Phyllis 's  last  remark  settled  the  question;  if  they 
could  afford  to  keep  a  servant  in  case  they  were  forced 
to  it,  there  could  be  no  risk  in  the  attempt.  Indeed, 
Barbara  would  not  admit  that  there  was  risk  in  any  case. 

Tom  was  unselfishly  enthusiastic  over  the  scheme, 
though  he  said  he  dared  not  think  of  his  loneliness  if  they 
left  the  "Blackboard."  But  Bab  hospitably  gave  him 
the  freedom  of  the  new  apartment,  and  before  they  sepa- 
rated for  the  night  the  place  was  rented,  furnished,  and 
they  had  moved  in.  And,  best  of  all,  Tom  had  promised 
Phyllis  a  kitten. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE   TURN   OP  THE   LANE 


ESS  AMY  and  Barbara  were  ready  for 
their  expedition  in  search  of  peace  by 
nine  o'clock  the  next  morning.  Phyl- 
lis had  solemnly  promised  to  prepare 
for  herself  and  her  aunt  alternate 
cups  of  beef -tea  and  malted  milk  for 
every  two  hours  of  their  absence,  a  task  to  which  she 
protested  she  was  quite  equal,  especially  as  she  would 
be  sustained  by  the  remembrance  of  the  errand  on  which 
they  were  bound.  If  they  were  detained  over  lunch- 
hour,  the  willing  but  overworked  maid  was  engaged  to 
serve  them,  a  provision  for  possibilities  suggested  by 
Phyllis,  who  realized  that  Harlem  was  a  long  distance 
away  and  flat-seeking  consuming  of  time. 

' '  Phyllis  is  rather  like  the  centurion  in  the  gospel :  she 
tells  one  to  go,  and  she  goeth,  and  another  to  do  this,  and 
she  doeth  it.  That  is  n  't  irreverent,  because  the  centurion 
was  only  a  Roman  soldier,  not  even  a  prophet,"  said 
Bab,  as  she  and  Jessamy  toiled  up  the  elevated-road 
steps  at  Thirty-third  Street.  "I  wonder  what  it  is  about 
Phyl  that  we  all  yield  to?" 

122 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  LANE          123 

"She  is  very  decided,  with  all  her  quiet  manner,  for 
one  thing,"  said  Jessamy;  "and  we  have  learned  that 
she  is  generally  right,  and  pulls  us  out  of  difficulties  for 
another.  Wait  till  I  get  up,  Bab;  I  think  I  've  two 
tickets." 

"What  does  it  matter?  Keep  them;  we  shall  need 
them  when  we  've  moved  up  town,"  said  Bab,  airily, 
as  she  dashed  ahead  and  deposited  ten  cents  at  the 
ticket-seller's  window. 

They  had  a  list  of  apartments  to  rent,  cut  from  the 
paper,  and  they  decided,  after  consulting  it,  to  make 
One  Hundred  and  Fourth  Street  what  Bab  called  ' '  their 
distributing-point,"  whence  they  would  scatter  them- 
selves impartially  over  the  neighborhood. 

It  is  not  wholly  an  attractive  section  of  the  city ;  Jes- 
samy and  Bab  felt  their  ardor  somewhat  dampened  after 
they  had  rung  several  janitors'  bells,  in  uniformly  small 
vestibules  decorated  with  stencil-work  on  the  ceilings 
and  walls,  and  with  little  brass  speaking-tubes,  and  elec- 
tric bells,  and,  in  many  cases,  with  several  small  chil- 
dren munching  cookies  and  staring,  round-eyed,  at  the 
strangers.  The  apartments  they  were  shown  were  not 
what  they  had  dreamed  of  the  previous  night.  They 
were  tiny,  with  chambers  "just  about  large  enough  to 
iron  a  pocket  handkerchief  on  the  floor,"  said  Jessamy, 
forlornly. 

But  Barbara  said,  "Where  there  's  scope  there  's  hope, 
and  New  York  is  large, ' '  and  kept  on  cheerfully.  At  last 
they  discovered  a  house  further  up,  but  still  below  the 


124  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

bend  of  the  elevated  road,  around  which,  the  girls  felt 
sure,  they  would  never  be  able  to  persuade  their  mother 
to  travel.  It  looked  very  neatly  kept;  the  janitor's  wife, 
a  ruddy  German,  showed  them  the  rooms,  up  two  flights, 
with  no  elevator,  it  was  true,  but  the  stairs  were  not 
steep  ones.  There  were  seven  rooms  in  the  little  place,  not 
large,  but  not  as  small  as  the  others  they  had  seen;  the 
outlook  was  on  a  quiet  street,  the  chambers  were  not  all 
dark  and  aired  from  a  well,  and  the  upper  entrance  to 
Central  Park  was  but  two  blocks  away.  The  rent  of  the 
apartment,  they  were  told,  was  forty-five  dollars  a  month ; 
but,  since  it  was  February,  the  janitor  thought  it  could 
be  had  for  forty.  Jessamy  and  Barbara  were  unversed 
in  the  ways  of  landlords,  and  did  not  know  that  this 
was  a  method  frequently  resorted  to  in  trying  to  en- 
hance the  attractiveness  of  unrented  property;  it  had 
its  desired  effect  in  their  case,  and  they  quite  trembled 
lest  some  one  else  should  secure  their  bargain  before  they 
had  time  to  report  it  to  their  mother. 

' '  We  will  go  to  see  the  landlord, ' '  said  Jessamy,  mak- 
ing a  note  of  his  address,  and  hoping  she  did  not  seem 
too  eager. 

They  got  home,  tired  but  triumphant,  to  be  greeted 
by  two  faces  so  much  brighter  than  the  ones  they  had 
left  that  they  were  amazed,  until  Mrs.  Wyndham  and 
Phyllis  told  them  in  a  breath  that  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  had 
come  home,  and  had  been  to  see  them. 

"And,  oh,  girls!"  cried  Phyllis,  giving  them  each  a 
rapturous  squeeze.  "I  got  her  in  this  room  all  alone 


THE    EXPEDITION   IN    SEARCH  OF   PEACE. 


THE  TUEN  OF  THE  LANE          127 

and  told  her  our  plan,  and  where  you  had  gone,  and  she 
thought  it  the  wisest  move  we  could  make.  And— and 
—oh,  Jess— oh,  Bab,  I  'm  half  crazy!  She  's  had  some 
of  our  dearest  things  stored  away  for  us,  and  we  never 
knew  it!  Uncle's  big  chair,  Bab's  piano,  our  desks, 
tables— oh,  I  don't  know  what  they  are— and  photo- 
graphs and  casts  out  of  our  own  dear,  lovely  old  rooms ; 
and  now  they  will  be  all  ready  for  this  little  home ! ' ' 

Bab  turned  white,  then  took  a  header  into  the  pillows 
to  smother  the  cry  of  joy  which  she  could  not  keep 
back,  but  which  her  mother  must  not  hear,  while  Jes- 
samy,  who  had  silently  mourned  her  lost  treasures  as 
neither  of  the  others  had,  dropped  into  the  rocking- 
chair,  crying  for  joy. 

Mrs.  Van  Alyn  had  advised  the  girls  to  settle  the 
matter  without  consulting  their  mother.  She  was  so 
weak,  so  dead  to  all  interest  around  her,  that  her  friend 
thought  it  would  be  better  to  take  her  into  the  little 
apartment  when  it  was  ready  to  receive  her,  without  giv- 
ing her  a  chance  to  worry  over  the  difficulties  in  their 
path— difficulties  which,  in  her  condition,  would  impress 
her  more  than  the  advantages  of  the  plan. 

Jessamy  took  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  to  see  their  discovery, 
and  she  approved ;  that  made  it  somewhat  better  if  mat- 
ters went  wrong  later,  for  Jessamy  did  not  like  to  as- 
sume all  responsibility  for  such  a  radical  change  of  which 
her  mother  was  to  be  ignorant. 

So  the  flat  was  taken,  and  then  arose  the  question  of 
furnishing  it. 


128  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"Only  necessities,  dear  girls,  at  first,  if  you  are 
guided  by  my  advice,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Alyn;  "but  buy 
good  things,  and  select  wisely.  The  articles  I  have  saved 
for  you  out  of  your  old  home  are  rather  of  the  nature 
of  luxuries,  so  you  will  have  almost  as  much  as  your 
little  nest  will  hold  of  pretty  things,  which  is  fortunate." 

The  new  apartment  was  repapered  from  front  to  back, 
and  the  girls  had  the  pleasure  of  selecting  the  colors. 
A  soft  gray-green  in  the  parlor,  a  rich  red,  olive,  and 
brown  tapestry  in  the  dining-room,  light,  cheery  papers 
in  the  darker  bedrooms  were  their  choice,  and  entirely 
changed  the  effect  given  by  the  ugly  papers  which  had 
preceded  them.  The  floors  were  stained  in  the  parlor 
and  dining-room,  and  for  the  floors  of  the  little  chambers 
Jessamy  bought  tasteful  denims,  which  were  not  only 
pretty,  but  would  save  labor  in  sweeping.  The  three- 
feet-wide  hall  running  through  the  apartment  was 
stained  also,  and  black  goatskin  rugs  bought  to  lay  at 
intervals;  they  were  real  of  their  kind,  and  Jessamy  ab- 
horred imitations.  The  parlor  had  a  pretty  Wilton  rug 
to  cover  it,  and  the  dining-room  likewise.  Curtains  were 
not  among  the  first  necessities,  though  the  girls  thought 
longingly  of  their  softening  effect  against  the  wood- 
work, which  was  not  of  the  best  quality.  However,  there 
must  be  many  things  left  for  time  to  supply ;  the  outlay 
for  dining-room  and  chamber  furniture  was  all  their 
first  quarter's  income  could  spare. 

Ruth  was  called  into  consultation  for  the  kitchen ;  she 
and  Barbara  had  a  delightful  morning  in  a  hardware 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  LANE          129 

shop,  buying  bright  tins  and  fascinating  japanned  boxes, 
and  all  the  other  homely  articles— homely  in  the  Eng- 
lish sense,  for  they  looked  beautiful  to  the  homesick 
girls— which  go  to  furnish  the  most  important  room  in 
the  house. 

Jessamy,  Phyllis,  and  Bab  were  wild  with  delight 
during  these  last  days;  they  hardly  knew  how  to  get 
through  them,  so  impatient  were  they  for  the  day  to 
come  when  they  should  take  possession  of  their  king- 
dom. Tom  was  not  less  excited  than  they.  Not  a  day 
passed  without  his  bringing  home  some  wonderful  con- 
tribution to  the  cooperative  housekeeping,  in  which  he 
claimed  his  full  share  of  cooperation.  And  at  last,  on 
the  day  before  the  Wyndhams  were  to  move  up  town, 
Mrs.  Van  Alyn  carried  Tom  off  with  her  to  the  apart- 
ment, forbidding  the  girls  entrance  to  their  own  pre- 
cincts, and  with  his  help  set  in  place  the  priceless  treas- 
ures of  old  association  which  her  kindness  had  kept  for 
them  from  a  past  more  splendid,  but  which  the  present 
promised  to  equal  in  happiness. 

And  so  the  great  day  came.  Mrs.  Wyndham  had  been 
told  only  two  days  before  of  the  home  awaiting  her,  and 
received  the  news  with  rather  more  apprehension  than 
pleasure. 

Aunt  Henrietta  had  been  to  see  them,  and  had  scolded 
the  girls  roundly  for  their  madness,  prophesying  utter 
failure  and  expense  far  beyond  their  calculations,  and 
telling  them  that  it  was  quite  evident  they  meant  to  kill 
their  poor  mother,  putting  a  burden  upon  her  she  was 


130  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

so  unequal  to  bearing,  for  of  course  it  was  ridiculous 
to  consider  them,  inexperienced,  spoiled  children,  as 
either  housekeepers  or  cooks. 

But  though  there  was  a  little  time  after  this  interview 
that  Jessamy  especially,  having  been  the  one  who  was 
inclined  to  doubt,  felt  her  ardor  somewhat  dampened,  it 
passed  quickly,  for  Tom  came,  bringing  in  a  patent  wash- 
board which  did  everything  but  iron  the  clothes  laid  in 
a  tub  in  which  it  stood ;  and  in  the  nonsense  talked  over 
it,  and  the  lecture  Tom  gave  on  its  merits,  Aunt  Hen- 
rietta was  forgotten. 

Phyllis  had  given  up  her  position  with  Mrs.  Haines. 
They  hoped  to  save  as  much  as  she  had  earned  there 
under  the  new  arrangements,  and  her  services  were 
needed  at  home  to  do  this.  " Besides,  you  could  n't  pos- 
sibly be  a  nursery  governess,  Phyllis  Wyndham,"  said 
Bab.  "Won't  it  be  blissful  if  we  can  earn  money  by 
saving  it,  and  by  making  a  home  for  ourselves  into  the 
bargain  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Van  Alyn  sent  her  carriage  once  more  for  her 
old  friend 's  service.  Mrs.  Black  ' '  assembled, ' '  Tom  said, 
to  see  them  off;  this  time  it  was  Phyllis  who  accom- 
panied her  aunt,  and  the  two  invalids  were  furnished 
with  refreshments  for  the  drive,  and  the  coachman  was 
ordered  to  take  them  up  through  the  park  at  an  easy 
pace.  And  so,  in  the  carriage  which  had  borne  her  away 
from  her  first  home,  poor  Mrs.  Wyndham,  full  of  the 
recollection,  too  ill  and  too  sad  to  share  the  girls'  enthu- 
siasm, rode  away  to  her  new  one. 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  LANE          131 

The  trunks  and  all  Tom's  mad  contributions  to  the 
apartment  had  gone  away  early,  and  as  soon  as  the  door 
had  closed  on  their  mother  and  Phyllis,  Jessamy  and  Bar- 
bara tore  up  the  long  flights  to  get  their  hats  and  jackets 
and  hasten  after  them. 

Bab  seized  Jessamy  around  the  waist  and  waltzed  her 
all  over  both  empty  rooms,  singing  at  the  top  of  her 
voice.  The  chambermaid  pushed  her  reddish  bang  out 
of  her  eyes  to  see  better,  and  grinned  sympathetically ;  she 
liked  the  Wyndhams,  who  had  been  considerate  of  her, 
and  she  would  have  been  glad  to  escape  bondage  herself. 

"Oh,  Nellie,  here  is  our  parting  gift  to  you,"  said 
Jessamy.  "We  're  much  obliged  to  you  for  what  you 
have  done  for  us  since  we  came  here." 

' '  Sure,  't  wa  'n  't  anything  to  thank  me  for,  miss,  thanks 
to  you;  an'  it  's  sorry  I  am  to  see  you  goin',"  said 
Nellie,  wiping  her  forehead  with  her  apron,  for  she 
knew  from  long  experience  that  it  was  dusty  without 
looking  to  see. 

"Don't  say  it,  Nellie,  don't  say  it,"  cried  Bab,  wrig- 
gling into  her  jacket,  both  arms  at  a  time.  "I  'm  so 
glad  I  think  I  shall  die  before  I  get  home— home,  Nellie, 
home !  Only  think  of  that — Home,  and  we  have  been 
boarding  here  since  September !  Come  on,  Jess!  Don't 
stop  for  gloves;  put  them  on  in  the  train!  Got  every- 
thing? Oh,  hurry!  We  must  be  there  to  look  after 
Madrina  and  Phyl,  and  I  'm  wild  to  see  what  Mrs.  Van 
Alyn  and  that  boy  did  up  there  yesterday.  Don't  stop 
for  gloves ;  I  'm  going  crazy. ' ' 


132  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"You  're  crazy  now,"  said  Jessamy,  but  she  tucked 
her  gloves  into  her  coat  pocket,  and  her  voice  shook,  and 
her  cheeks  were  crimson.  "Come,  then.  Good-by,  Nel- 
lie; I  hope  you  will  be  well  and  happy.  Good-by,  old 
room;  we  might  have  left  you  sorrowful  instead  of  re- 
joicing, and  I  thank  you  for  that. ' ' 

Barbara  was  already  half  way  down-stairs;  Jessamy 
ran  after  her,  and  they  reached  the  front  door  breath- 
less, to  find  Mrs.  Black  and  Mrs.  Hardy  waiting  to  say 
farewell. 

"I  wish  you  luck,"  said  Mrs.  Black,  with  an  air  that 
seemed  to  imply  it  was  a  hopeless  desire  for  any  one 
mad  enough  to  leave  her  sheltering  roof.  "You  '11  find 
housekeeping  very  different  from  having  no  cares  and 
being  free  to  enjoy  yourself.  I  hope  you  may  be  happy, 
and  your  ma  won't  break  down  under  the  strain;  she 
can't  stand  much." 

"Good-by,  Miss  Wyndham  and  Miss  Barbara,"  said 
Mrs.  Hardy.  ' '  I  thought,  maybe,  the  young  medical  stu- 
dent might  board  with  you.  I  hope  you  won't  forget  to 
send  us  cards  to  your  wedding,  my  dear.  I  think  you 
make  a  mistake  to  leave  here,  but  I  hope  you  know  best." 

"Did  you  ever  dream  of  such  a  horrible  old  woman?" 
said  Bab,  walking  indignantly  down  the  street  to  Sixth 
Avenue.  But  these  last  shafts  from  the  quiver  which 
had  pricked  them  so  often  in  the  past  months  could  not 
annoy  Jessamy  and  Barbara  long,  because  they  were  the 
last ;  were  they  not  going  home,  home,  and  is  not  home  a 
word  to  conjure  evils  away? 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  LANE          133 

The  ride  seemed  endless  to  the  two  girls,  feverish 
with  impatience;  the  train  dragged  around  the  curve 
at  Fifty-third  Street,  and  loitered  as  it  had  never  done 
before  at  each  station.  But  at  last— at  last  the  tedious 
journey  ended,  and  once  they  had  turned  east  out  of 
crowded  Columbus  Avenue,  Jessamy  and  Bab  fairly  ran 
down  the  street  where  their  apartment  waited  them. 

They  let  themselves  into  the  house  with  their  own 
latch-key;  the  janitor's  wife  was  cleaning  brasses,  and 
said  good  morning  pleasantly,  but  with  no  notion  of 
what  a  great  event  was  happening  before  her  Swabian 
eyes.  How  could  she  have,  poor  soul,  since  people  move 
in  and  out  of  apartments  every  day,  and  few  of  them 
are  young  exiles,  hungry  for  a  home,  come  to  take  pos- 
session of  their  Land  of  Promise? 

Jessamy 's  heart  beat  so  she  could  hardly  get  up  the 
stairs,  but  Bab  honorably  waited  for  her,  and  would  not 
put  the  key  in  the  lock—not  the  general,  common  lock 
of  the  outer  door,  solemn  as  that  ceremony  had  been, 
but  the  sacred,  blessed  lock  of  their  own  private-hall 
door. 

She  threw  the  door  open,  clutched  Jessamy 's  hand, 
who  returned  the  pressure  with  interest,  and  together 
they  entered  their  home. 

How  beautiful,  peaceful,  homelike  everything  looked ! 
There  stood  Bab's  piano,  Jessamy 's  desk,  and  the  pic- 
tures they  had  loved  welcomed  them  from  the  walls  like 
living  things. 

They  ran  from  room  to  room,  calling  to  each  other, 


134  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

sobbing  and  laughing  and  kissing  the  inanimate  things 
like  crazy  girls.  Phyllis 's  desk  stood  in  her  room,  and 
the  little  rocking-chair  Bab  loved  best  held  out  its  arms 
to  her  beside  her  bed.  In  the  dining-room  they  found 
silver  they  had  thought  never  to  see  again,  and  dishes 
which,  empty  or  full,  they  knew  would  be  equal  to  food 
to  their  mother. 

They  made  their  excited  way  back  to  the  parlor  finally, 
and  Jessamy  dropped  exhausted  in  the  window,  which 
was  mysteriously  draped  with  white  lace,  though  they 
had  made  up  their  minds  to  self-denial  in  the  matter 
of  curtains.  Her  eyes  rested  on  her  father's  chair,  and 
her  lips  trembled  with  joy  and  gratitude.  "Oh,  God 
bless  that  dear,  dear  Mrs.  Van  Alyn ! ' '  she  said,  though 
she  usually  found  such  expression  impossible. 

Barbara  opened  the  piano,  and  laid  her  hands  on  the 
keys.  She  struck  two  or  three  chords  of  "Home,  Sweet 
Home, ' '  and  then  laid  her  head  down  on  the  pretty  case 
to  cry  the  happiest  tears  she  had  ever  shed. 

It  was  fortunate  that  Jessamy  and  Barbara  had  more 
than  half  an  hour  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  invalids, 
for  neither  Phyllis  nor  their  mother  was  strong  enough 
to  encounter  them  while  their  excitement  was  at  its 
height.  When  they  arrived  the  girls  had  calmed  down 
enough  to  open  the  door  quietly  and  say,  with  only  a 
little  tremor  in  each  voice:  "Welcome  home,  mama  and 
Phyllis!" 

Phyllis  looked  white  after  her  drive,  but  the  color 
rushed  from  her  throat  to  her  short  hair  at  the  sight 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  LANE          135 

that  met  her  eyes.  She  did  not  attempt  to  go  further 
than  the  parlor  sofa,  where  Bab  led  her,  and  let  her 
cousin  take  off  her  wraps  without  an  effort  to  help  her- 
self. She  lay  still  in  a  trance  of  delight,  looking  from 
one  dear  picture  to  another,  letting  the  soothing  green 
tone  of  the  room  sink  into  her  brain  and  rest  her  as  if 
a  quiet  hand  had  been  laid  upon  her  nerves. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  got  no  further  than  her  husband's 
chair.  She  sank  into  it,  laid  her  tired  head  against  its 
cool  leather,  and  burst  into  quiet  tears.  But  even  the 
girls,  inexperienced  as  they  were,  recognized  that  they 
were  tears  which  would  restore  her,  that  they  stood  for 
the  breaking  up  of  the  apathy  which  had  been  the 
worst  phase  of  their  mother's  illness,  over  which  Doctor 
Jerome  had  looked  gravest.  And  they  felt  certain  that 
they  had  done  well  in  taking  matters  into  their  own 
hands,  and  giving  the  frail  little  mother  a  home  once 
more. 

Bab,  getting  to  herself  again,  saw  that  the  taking 
possession  must  be  keyed  lower,  and  that  they  must  get 
into  the  commonplace  as  quickly  as  possible  if  they 
wanted  their  mother  and  Phyllis  to  feel  no  ill  effect  of 
the  drive. 

"We  shall  now  proceed,  Miss  Wyndham  and  I,  to 
prove  to  you  that  we  can  build  a  fire  and  cook,"  she  said. 
"We  are  going  into  our  kitchen,  and  shall  turn  on  our 
gas,  which  is  the  way  we  always  build  a  fire,  and  light 
it  with  a  safety  match,  and  we  shall  take  our  new  sauce- 
pan and  heat  for  both  of  you  ladies  a  fresh  glass  of 


136  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

milk.  You  will  perceive,  without  my  mentioning  it,  that 
everything  we  propose  to  do  is  new  and  up-to-date.  You 
shall  be  served  within  fifteen  minutes,  Mrs.  Wyndham, 
ma 'am,  with  crisp,  fresh  crackers,  hot  milk,  and  a  thimble- 
ful of  brandy,  then  you  and  your  niece  will  be  mildly  but 
firmly  compelled  to  lie  down  on  your  beds  until  lunch- 
eon. ' '  A  program  which  was  carried  out  to  the  letter. 

Oh,  the  joy  of  preparing  that  luncheon,  when  for  the 
first  time  Jessamy  deposited  the  carefully  measured  tea — 
measured  by  the  old  rule  of  a  teaspoonful  to  each  cup 
and  one  for  the  pot— into  the  fat  little  Japanese  teapot, 
and  the  unutterable  bliss  of  peeping  in  afterward,  with 
an  air  of  experience, to  see  if  it  had  "drawn"  sufficiently ! 
And  the  happiness  of  broiling  the  chops  on  the  broiler 
of  the  gas-range,  new  and  lovely  to  behold,  if  it  was 
black!  And  the  greater  happiness  of  making  cocoa  for 
the  invalids  in  the  alluring  agate  saucepan,  brought 
forth  from  the  under  part  of  the  kitchen  closet,  to  be 
useful  for  the  first  time  in  its  gray,  satin-finish  life! 

Bab  was  delirious,  cut  a  slice  of  bread,  and  flew  off 
to  turn  the  chops ;  cut  two  more  slices,  arid  ran  away  to 
hug  her  mother.  She  set  the  cold  water  running,  and 
Jessamy  just  stopped  her  afterward  from  filling  the 
water-pitcher  from  the  hot-water  faucet.  She  set  the 
table  in  a  whirl,  darting  here  and  there  with  rapturous 
squeals  at  the  discovery  of  some  treasure  she  had  not 
yet  seen;  on  the  whole,  did  all  a  mad  child  could  do  to 
prove  that  Aunt  Henrietta  was  right,  and  that  she  was 
"flighty"  and  unreliable. 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  LANE          137 

Jessamy  took  her  happiness  in  another  way.  She 
went  about  with  an  uplifted  look  on  her  lovely  face, 
touched  everything  with  a  kind  of  reverence,  brooding 
over  the  teacups  and  lifting  the  butter-jar  as  if  they 
were  little  babies.  She  forgot  nothing,  left  nothing  un- 
done, and  when  she  went  in  to  say,  with  an  assumption 
of  what  she  intended  for  a  commonplace  manner,  though 
her  voice  would  quiver:  "Lunch  is  ready,  mama;  come, 
Phyllis,"  she  called  them  to  a  meal  perfect,  so  far  as  it 
went,  thanks  to  her  and  in  spite  of  Bab's  temporary 
insanity. 

Tom  and  Ruth  came  to  that  first  dinner.  Tom  had 
camped  out,  and  insisted  on  cooking  the  steak.  Ruth 
showed  the  girls  how  to  boil  potatoes  so  that  they  would 
neither  crumble  to  bits  nor  emerge  water-soaked  from  the 
hot  water.  Ruth  also  taught  them  to  prepare  the  canned 
peas  so  that  the  flavor  of  the  tin  would  be  taken  from 
them;  and  more  than  this  they  did  not  attempt,  beyond 
cutting  oranges  into  flower  shapes  for  dessert,  and  mak- 
ing black  coffee,  which  the  girls  had  supposed  a  simple 
accomplishment  until  Ruth  explained  to  them  the  many 
ways  in  which  they  could  spoil  it. 

Nixie  had  a  brilliant  red  bow,  which  he  despised,  on 
his  collar  for  the  occasion,  and  was  fed  in  turn  by  every 
one  till  he  could  eat  no  more  and  retired  to  the  front  of 
the  radiator  to  meditate  on  the  advantages  of  house- 
keeping. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  made  an  effort,  and  took  her  place  at 
the  head  of  her  table  to  please  the  girls,  and  really  showed 


138  THE  WYNDHAM  GIKLS 

such  an  improved  appetite  that  Jessamy  and  Barbara 
forgot  theirs  in  the  joy  of  watching  her.  And  Phyllis 
did  her  duty  by  the  tender  steak  as  only  fever  and  half 
a  year  of  "Blackboard"  steaks  could  make  her.  Jes- 
samy and  Bab  made  a  dinner  chiefly  of  rapture;  it  was 
all  so  wonderful,  so  blissful,  that  they  did  not  crave  ordi- 
nary food,  but  beamed  on  their  family  in  satisfaction 
that  was  as  nourishing— for  once — as  steak. 

Tom  donned  one  of  the  new  plaid  gingham  aprons  pro- 
vided for  the  young  housekeepers  and  helped  with  the 
dishes.  It  was  only  a  game,  new  and  fascinating,  this 
first  time  to  wash  even  the  greasy  broiler ;  but  Ruth  had 
shown  them  the  charm  of  ammonia  and  a  patent  prepa- 
ration of  potash,  and  even  dainty  Jessamy  faced  the 
prospect  of  future  pans  fearlessly. 

"Now,  I  Ve  one  more  contribution  to  this  mansion," 
said  Tom.  "I  wanted  to  show  it  to  you  when  I  came, 
but  I  feared  for  my  dinner.  Your  mother  has  it  in  the 
parlor.  It  's  for  you,  Phyllis." 

"Is  it—"  began  Phyllis,  but  Tom  interrupted  her. 
"Don't  guess;  come  and  see,  all  of  you." 

Phyllis  fairly  jumped  from  the  rocking-chair,  where 
she  had  been  installed  in  range  of  the  kitchen  door  to 
watch  the  dish-washing,  and  ran,  as  if  she  had  never 
been  ill,  into  the  parlor.  There  sat  her  aunt,  and  in 
her  lap,  curled  up  like  a  powder-puff,  the  tiniest,  whitest 
kitten  ever  seen.  Phyllis  had  it  in  her  hands  and  cud- 
dled in  her  neck  in  a  moment.  "Oh,  Tom,  it  's  lovely! 
Oh,  if  you  only  knew  how  I  've  been  wanting  a  kitten! 


THE  TURN  OF  THE  LANE          139 

How  did  you  get  such  a  white  one?"  she  cried  rap- 
turously. 

"I  've  had  it  engaged  for  you  for  ten  days;  we  've 
been  waiting  for  it  to  learn  to  eat;  it  's  only  a  month 
old, ' '  said  Tom,  looking  very  happy  at  Phyllis 's  pleasure. 
"His  mother  is  a  white  lady  of  most  honorable  reputa- 
tion and  perfect  manners;  they  say  all  her  kittens  are 
models  in  every  way.  Hope  he  '11  do  you  credit. ' ' 

"He  shall  be  called  Truce,"  cried  Phyllis;  "because 
he  's  all  white  and  we  're  at  peace. ' ' 

' '  Truce  is  not  peace ;  however,  it  's  a  jolly  name, ' '  said 
Tom.  "I  called  him  Antiseptic  Cotton,  but  I  don't  mind 
if  you  change  the  name.  He  looks  precisely  like  the 
little  packages  of  cotton  we  use  in  the  hospital." 

' '  Horrid ! ' '  said  Bab,  decidedly.  ' '  Truce  is  pretty.  I 
think  you  might  let  some  one  else  see  just  the  tip  of  his 
tail,  Phyl.  We  like  kittens,  too." 

' '  He  adds  the  very  last  touch  to  the  hominess  of  every- 
thing," said  Phyllis,  generously  handing  the  kitten  over 
to  Bab.  "Bless  you,  Tom,  for  getting  him!" 


CHAPTER  IX 


HOME-KEEPING   HEARTS 

HE  Wyndliams  had  been  "out  of 
Egypt,"  as  Phyllis  called  it,  a  month. 
Tom  painted  a  highly  decorative  sign 
bearing  the  word  "Canaan,"  in  gold 
letters  on  a  red  ground,  to  be  placed 
over  the  front  door,  because  the  Wynd- 
hams  were  not  only  out  of  Egypt,  but  entered  into  the 
Land  of  Promise.  Although  it  was  not  quite  possible 
to  hang  the  inscription  in  the  front  hall,  Phyllis  would 
not  discard  it,  but  placed  it  between  the  dining-room 
windows.  The  flat  was  the  land  of  promise  to  them  all, 
and  each  realized  it  in  her  own  way. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  was  almost  entirely  well ;  her  improve- 
ment had  been  rapid  from  the  first,  and  she  was  far 
happier  than  she  had  been  since  the  fatal  day  when  Mr. 
Hurd  had  come  to  tell  her  of  her  loss,  almost  a  year  ago. 
Phyllis  was  completely  recovered;  she  was  so  happy 
there  was  no  possibility  of  being  less  than  well.  Her 
hair  was  growing  out  in  soft  rings  of  curls,  as  Ruth  had 
prophesied  it  would,  and  she  had  never  been  half  as 

140 


HOME-KEEPING  HEARTS  141 

pretty  in  her  life  as  now,  with  present  joy  and  hope  for 
the  future  shining  in  her  beautiful  eyes.  For  Phyllis  was 
dreaming  and  working ;  when  household  duties  were  done 
she  spent  certain  hours  of  each  day  over  her  desk,  and 
it  was  hard  for  her  not  to  share  Jessamy  and  Barbara's 
sincere  conviction  that  her  little  stories  were  one  day 
to  see  the  light. 

In  the  meantime,  Phyllis  had  gravitated  naturally 
into  the  position  of  chief  cook  in  the  scheme  of  domestic 
economy ;  she  loved  a  kitchen,  she  took  kindly  to  all  that 
belonged  to  it,  and  her  delight  was  to  feed  those  she 
loved.  "Phyllis  is  a  real  lady,  there  's  no  doubt  of 
that,"  said  Bab.  "It  is  her  nature  to  give  bread  to  her 
dependents,  and  the  term  describes  her  in  its  dictionary 
meaning."  With  little  white  Truce  on  her  shoulder, 
his  favorite  throne,  Phyllis  went  about  her  tasks,  singing 
from  morning  till  night,  happier  than  she  had  ever  be- 
fore been  in  all  her  short  life. 

Jessamy  had  found  her  proper  place  as  the  beautifier ; 
she  set  every  room  in  order  daily,  gave  the  touch  only 
she  could  give  to  the  table,  planned,  and  went  to  market, 
and  was  no  less  happy  than  Phyllis.  Barbara— what 
was  her  share?  It  would  be  hard  to  say,  but  she  per- 
meated the  little  home  with  her  sunny  lightheartedness, 
and  never  shirked  any  duty  that  came  her  way.  "I  'm 
general  utility  man  and  clown,"  she  said  herself,  and, 
with  proper  modification  of  the  latter  word,  perhaps  that 
described  her  position. 

She  was  growing  older,  Jessamy  thought,  watching 


142  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

her ;  there  was  a  new  note  of  womanliness  in  her  jesting 
sometimes.  But  little  Barbara  was  eighteen;  her  birth- 
day was  the  first  festival  celebrated  in  the  new  home. 

The  plan  was  working  triumphantly ;  the  girls  were  so 
afraid  of  the  failure  prophesied  for  them  that  they  did 
not  dare  spend  what  they  could  honestly  afford,  and  the 
first  month 's  bills  were  under  the  estimate ;  yet  they  were 
flourishing,  and  needed  for  comfort  and  health  no  more 
than  they  had. 

There  were  bad  days,  when  everything  went  cross- 
ways  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  day,  as  there 
will  be  in  all  households,  even  the  best  regulated.  But 
when  such  days  came  the  girls  treated  them  politely,  and 
pretended  not  to  notice  that  they  were  crooked,  as  Phyl- 
lis suggested  doing,  and  so  they  came  less  often  than  to 
people  who  dwelt  on  their  deficiencies. 

Jessamy  and  Bab  were  making  beds  one  morning  as 
usual,  and  Phyllis  was  out  in  the  kitchen  clearing  away 
the  breakfast  things.  Truce  was  on  her  shoulder;  he 
was  growing  fast,  but  did  not  seem  to  think  that  was 
any  reason  why  he  should  alter  his  custom.  He  was  the 
most  loving  of  small  catkins,  with  golden  eyes,  and  a 
preternaturally  long,  slender  tail ;  he  wore  a  scarlet  rib- 
bon to  set  off  his  pink-lined  ears  and  pink  nose,  and  the 
snowy  coat  his  devoted  mistress  kept  spotless  by  the  sim- 
ple method  of  sponging  with  soap  and  water.  Truce 
never  objected  to  anything  Phyllis  chose  to  do  to  him; 
indeed,  he  had  "reversed  hydrophobia,"  Bab  said,  for 
water  had  such  an  irresistible  fascination  for  him  that 


HOME-KEEPING  HEAETS  143 

anything  containing  it  was  in  danger  from  his  meddle- 
some little  white  paws,  from  the  biggest  water-pitcher 
to  the  most  dainty  vase. 

Phyllis  was  singing,  as  usual.  The  two  girls  in  the 
room  near  by  heard  her  chanting,  to  a  tune  of  her  own : 

"Stay,  stay  at  home,  my  heart,  and  rest; 
Home-keeping  hearts  are  happiest, 
For  those  that  wander  they  know  not  where 
Are  full  of  trouble  and  full  of  care ; 
To  stay  at  home  is  best." 

Then  she  apparently  tired  of  Longfellow,  for  there 
were  a  few  moments  of  silence  and  chatter  to  the  kitten 
alternately.  Suddenly  she  began  singing  to  a  swinging, 
not  particularly  tuneful  tune,  like  those  the  little  chil- 
dren use  for  the  games  they  play  in  the  street.  This 
time  it  was  a  funny  little  song  of  her  own : 

"  Homy  and  happy,  cheery  and  bright, 
New  tins  to  left  of  me,  new  tins  to  right, 
A  little  white  kitten  to  pet  and  to  cuddle, 
And  purr  back  my  peace  when  I  get  in  a  muddle ; 
A  getting-well  mother,  three  girls,  and  a  cat— 
My  joys  are  so  many  they  're  crowding  the  flat ! 

Look  out,  Truchi-ki ;  you  '11  fall ! ' '  And  Jessamy  and 
Bab  heard  a  saucepan  cover  drop,  and  guessed  that  Phyl- 
lis had  put  up  her  hand  to  steady  Truce  on  her  shoulder. 
"Copyrighted,  Phyl?"  called  Bab;  but  Phyllis,  on 
her  knees  looking  at  her  cake  in  the  oven,  did  not  hear 
her,  and  Jessamy  put  her  hand  over  her  sister 's  lips. 


144  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

"Let  her  alone,  Bab.  Listen!  She  may  improvise 
more,"  she  said.  "Now  she  's  beginning  to  sweep,  and 
that  usually  inspires  her." 

Phyllis 's  broom  flew,  and  Jessamy  and  Bab  waited 
developments.  Evidently  Truce  had  dismounted,  and 
was  ready  for  the  frolic  sweeping  always  meant  to  him, 
for  they  heard  Phyllis  laugh,  and  cry:  "Look  out, 
Truchi-ki !  How  do  you  expect  me  to  sweep  if  you  hold 
my  broom?  I  '11  spank  you,  kitten;  you  've  never  had 
one  tiny,  least  spanking  in  all  your  life."  Phyllis  al- 
ways talked  nonsense  to  Truce,  whose  name  had  devel- 
oped through  an  Italian  pronunciation  of  Truce,  Truchi, 
into  the  Japanese-sounding  Truchi-ki,  which  Phyllis  said 
meant,  "Trucie,  ki-tten,"  but  which  Jessamy  more  cor- 
rectly defined  as  meaning  nonsensical  affection.  Luck- 
ily for  them,  however,  all  the  Wyndhams  loved  nonsense. 

To  prove  it,  Phyllis  began  to  sing  once  more,  a  long 
jumble  of  nonsense  in  one  rhyme: 

"  Trouble  found  me  where  I  sat, 
But  I  did  n't  care  for  that, 
Only  learned  my  lesson  pat. 
Then  I  took  a  heavy  bat, 
And  I  hit  old  Trouble— spat! 
And  I  gave  him  tit  for  tat. 
Last,  I  drowned  him  in  a  vat. 
Now  I  've  learned  to  make  a  hat, 
Wash  a  dish  and  sweep  a  mat, 
And  I  think  I  'm  getting  fat 
In  this  blessed  little  flat, 
With  my  snowy  Trucie-cat — 
I  'm  so  very,  very  happy  that  I  don't  know  where  I  'm  at  I " 


'"  LOOK  OUT,  TRUCH1-KI  ;  YOU  'LL  FALL!'  PHYLLIS  SAID." 


HOME-KEEPING  HEARTS  147 

This  was  too  much  for  the  audience;  two  peals  of 
laughter  rang  out  from  the  bedroom,  echoed  by  Mrs: 
Wyndham  from  the  hall. 

"Going  crazy,  Phyl?"  gasped  Bab'. 

' '  I  don 't  know,  I  'm  sure,  and  I  don 't  see  that  it  mat- 
ters," returned  Phyllis.  "I  'm  brushing  up  our  own 
kitchen,  and  everything  I  've  sung  is  true;  I  'd  like  to 
know  what  consequence  a  little  more  or  less  sanity  is 
under  these  circumstances?  Oh,  dear  peoplekins,  do  you 
think  we  shall  ever  get  used  to  this  niceness?  You 
need  n't  laugh  at  my  inspirations;  they  are  real  hymns 
of  praise,  in  spirit,  even  if  they  sound  crazy." 

' '  I  am  the  one  to  sing  hymns  of  praise,  dear  little  Phyl- 
lis," said  Mrs.  Wyndham,  fondly.  "No  one  was  ever 
so  blessed  with  three  happy,  contented,  true-hearted 
props  in  misfortune  as  I  have  been. ' ' 

"I  '11  tell  you  a  secret,  mama,"  said  Jessamy,  emerg- 
ing from  under  Phyllis 's  desk,  where  she  had  been  pick- 
ing up  scraps  of  torn  paper.  "I  suspect  it  is  n't  misfor- 
tune. I  have  a  deep-seated  suspicion  that  it  is  just  good 
luck  that  has  come  to  us,  and  that  if  we  had  stayed  rich 
we  should  have  missed  getting  into  the  heart  of  things 
and  the  real  fun  of  living. ' ' 

"Now  be  honest,  Jessamy,"  said  Bab.  "I  have  entire 
confidence  in  Phyllis  and  myself  sincerely  enjoying 
makeshifts,  but  I  have  a  horrid  doubt  that  you  may  be 
making  the  Best  of  it.  Don't  you  wish  you  could  go 
about,  and  have  all  the  pretty  things  you  love,  and  do  no 
housework,  but  merely  be  lovely  all  day  and  every  day?" 


148  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

Jessamy  paused,  her  color  heightened;  she  was  too 
honest  to  answer  equivocally.  "Sometimes,"  she  said 
slowly,  "I  remember  that  though  we  are  rather  simple 
girls,  and  like  to  stay  girlish  just  as  long  as  we  can,  still 
we  are  a  little  past  nineteen,  Phyl  and  I,  and  Babbie  is 
eighteen,  and  I  M  like  to  have  just  a  little  more  girlish 
fun,  because  we  can 't  be  young  long.  The  pretty  things 
I  don't  miss  much,  because  I  have  them,  if  I  may  be 
allowed  a  bull.  So  far  we  have  had  as  nice  things  to 
wear  as  we  used  to  have,  because  our  old  stock  is  not 
used  up.  And  as  to  our  flat,  it  is  simple,  but  it  has  the 
right  look,  and  beauty  is  not  a  matter  of  cost.  I  am  very 
happy,  and  I  am  truly  contented;  your  'horrid  doubt,' 
Bab,  need  not  come  again.  I  think  this  year  has  done 
more  for  us  than  we  know,  and  I  am  honestly  satisfied. 
But  I  do  hope  that  we  may  be  able  to  help  ourselves ;  if 
only  my  illustrating  turns  out  well,  I  ask  nothing  more — 
nothing  better  of  fate." 

"Why  did  you  change  that  more  into  better,  Jes- 
samy?" asked  Phyllis. 

"Oh,  because!"  said  Jessamy,  smiling.  "I  'm  not 
like  you  and  Bab;  I  can't  help  looking  ahead  and  won- 
dering. ' ' 

Barbara  looked  at  her  pretty  face  in  Phyllis 's  glass, 
and  the  color  mounted  to  her  dark  hair.  She  turned 
hastily  to  see  if  the  others  were  watching  her;  Jessamy 
saw,  and  noted  again  that  Babbie,  like  the  white  kitten, 
was  growing  up  fast. 

"Oh!"  cried  Bab,  laughing  a  little  self-consciously. 


HOME-KEEPING  HEAETS  149 

"As  to  wondering,  I  wonder,  wonder,  all  the  time.  It 
is  rather  like  'Twinkle,  Twinkle,  Little  Star,'  is  n't  it? 
When  you  're  a  three-feet  snip  you  wonder  what  the 
little  star  is,  and  when  you  're  a  five-feet  snippier  you 
wonder  less  what  is  up  above  the  world  so  high  than  what 
is  down  on  your  own  level,  headed  toward  you.  I  sup- 
pose even  the  most  contented  girls  have  to  dream  and 
get  restless,  don't  they,  Madrina— don't  they,  Trucie- 
pet?" 

And  she  swung  Truce  to  her  shoulder,  where  he  kissed 
her  ear  as  she  danced  around,  singing,  "Twinkle,  Twin- 
kle, Little  Star, ' '  in  waltz  time. 

Her  mother  watched  her,  and  sighed.  She  too  saw  that 
Bab  was  changing,  and,  mother-like,  hated  to  have  her 
baby  less  a  child. 

Tom— and  Nixie,  as  a  matter  of  course— were  due  at 
the  apartment  that  afternoon.  The  big  divan  which  had 
been  constructed  at  his  suggestion  in  the  boarding  days, 
was  promoted  to  the  rank  of  dining-room  couch,  and  in 
this  honorable  position  required  a  new  cover.  Tom 
claimed  the  right,  as  his  part  of  cooperation,  to  help  in 
all  tasks  needing  masculine  strength  of  hands;  and  both 
for  his  sake  and  their  own  the  Wyndhams  gladly  ad- 
mitted him  to  a  share  in  The  Experiment,  as  they  called 
their  housekeeping,  which  they  thought  of  in  capitals. 

Tom  was  a  little  late,  but  he  and  Nixie  appeared  at 
last.  The  little  dog  and  Truce  were  perfectly  good 
friends,  though  Nixie  had  the  lowest  opinion  of  cats  in 
general,  and  it  is  likely  Truce  held  dogs  in  slight  esteem, 


150  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

but  his  life  in  an  apartment,  secluded  from  the  vulgar 
world,  did  not  expose  him  to  their  acquaintance. 

The  dining-room  was  a  medley  of  all  the  contents  of 
the  divan,  ready  emptied  for  operations,  and  Tom  lost 
no  time  in  getting  to  work  in  the  three  hours  of  light 
remaining. 

"Pull  the  stuff  out  straight,  and  let  me  mark  where 
it  is  to  be  cut,"  said  Tom  to  his  three  assistants.  Mrs. 
Wyndham  sat  in  the  arm-chair  to  watch  the  performance 
and  offer  advice.  The  new  cover  was  a  beautiful  dark 
red,  with  the  colors  of  the  tapestry  paper  on  the  wall 
suggested  and  emphasized  in  the  pattern. 

''Make  a  notch  here,  Bab,"  ordered  Tom,  "and  cut 
it  off  straight  across.  Then,  Jessamy,  you  and  Phyllis 
can  take  the  piece  that  comes  off  and  be  sewing  the  pil- 
low-covers, if  you  like." 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  said  Phyllis,  rescuing  her  cushion 
full  of  needles  from  Truce,  who  was  beside  himself  with 
delight  at  so  much  going  on. 

Tom  stretched  the  tapestry  over  the  top  of  the  couch, 
and  held  it  with  a  few  tacks  while  he  made  sure  the  fig- 
ure ran  straight.  Then  he  sat  down  on  the  floor  and 
began  tacking  the  covering  on  across  the  front. 

"I  've  something  to  decide,"  he  said,  as  well  as  he 
could  with  his  mouth  full  of  tacks.  "I  want  advice." 

"If  we  can  give  it,  my  dear,  you  shall  have  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Wyndham. 

"You  know  I  am  to  graduate  this  summer—"  Tom 
began. 


HOME-KEEPING  HEARTS  161 

"I  advise  you  to  do  that,  if  that  is  what  you  have  to 
decide, ' '  said  Bab,  saucily. 

''Barbara,  my  dear,  pray  let  Tom  speak,"  said  her 
mother. 

"Yes,  Miss  Impudence,  I  intend  to,"  said  Tom.  "But 
it  is  the  question  of  the  next  step  I  must  decide.  I  think 
I  never  told  you— please  give  me  the  scissors,  Jessamy — 
but  I  have  an  uncle,  my  father's  only  brother,  who  had 
a  son  my  age,  and  who  was  left  a  widower  with  the  boy 
when  we  were  both  about  eight  years  old.  My  cousin 
died;  it  was  a  dreadful  blow  to  his  father,  whose  whole 
life  was  wrapped  up  in  his  child.  My  uncle  has  a  consid- 
erable fortune,  and  he  said,  when  poor  Ralph  died,  I 
was  to  be  his  heir.  He  has  sent  me  to  college,  and  now 
he  says  that  if  I  want  to  be  a  specialist,  he  '11  send  me 
to  Germany  to  study  in  some  of  those  famous  schools 
and  under  their  first-class  scientists  as  long  as  I  please. 
And  I  don't  know  what  to  tell  him." 

"Is  it  a  question  of  being  a  specialist  or  a  general 
practitioner?"  asked  Mrs.  Wyndham.  "You  ought  not 
to  consult  us;  we  are  n't  competent  to  advise.  Besides, 
is  n  't  it  chiefly  a  matter  of  vocation  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  ma'am,  it  is  a  question  of  taking  up  general  or 
special  practice;  and,  no,  ma'am,  it  is  not  a  matter  of 
vocation ;  it  is  a  matter  of  expediency.  I  could  never  be 
anything  but  a  physician ;  I  never  for  a  moment  wanted 
to  do  anything  but  practise  medicine,  but  I  don't  care 
which  branch  of  it  I  practise,"  said  Tom.  "Specialists, 
if  they  succeed,  are  likely  to  make  more  money. ' ' 


152  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

' '  But  you  say  you  are  to  inherit  your  uncle 's  fortune. ' ' 
"Surely  you  would  n't  look  at  your  profession  merely 
from  the  money  point  of  view  ? ' '  said  Jessamy  and  Bar- 
bara, speaking  together  and  with  the  unworldliness  of  all 
good  young  girls. 

' '  But  if  you  went  to  Germany  you  would  be  gone  ever 
so  long,"  said  Phyllis,  slowly.  "How  can  you  expect 
us  to  offer  you  unselfish  advice,  when  we  should  miss 
you  so?" 

Tom  flushed  with  pleasure.  "Then  you  would  miss 
me?"  he  said.  "That  is  the  point  that  makes  me  hesi- 
tate; it  seems  to  me  I  could  hardly  make  the  sacrifice." 

"I  don't  think  we  ought  to  say  one  word  to  keep  Tom 
from  the  course  that  is  best  for  him,  Phyllis,"  said  Mrs. 
Wyndham.  "You  ought  to  ask  some  of  your  medical 
professors  at  college,  and  do  what  they  suggest. ' ' 

"I  think  he  ought  to  consider  what  gives  him  most 
opportunity  to  do  good,"  said  Jessamy,  "if  he  is  not 
obliged  to  depend  wholly  on  his  profession  for  a  living." 

"And  a  general  practice  surely  does  that,"  said 
Barbara. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know;  a  doctor  never  lacks  chances  to 
help  suffering  in  mind  and  body,"  said  Tom.  "It  is  a 
hard  problem.  Do  you  want  this  puffed  or  drawn  tight 
over  this  edge?" 

"The  easier  way,  whichever  that  may  be,"  said  Mi's. 
Wyndham,  smiling.  "Either  is  pretty." 

For  a  while  Tom  tacked  industriously,  calling  upon 
the  girls  occasionally  for  a  stitch  taken  in  strong  shoe 


HOME-KEEPING  HEAETS  153 

thread.  At  last  the  divan  was  covered,  and  the  four  pairs 
of  young  hands  packed  it  again  with  the  numerous  bun- 
dles and  bags  of  precious  remnants  taken  from  It. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  went  to  her  room,  and  Phyllis  stood 
absent-mindedly  gazing  down  on  their  neighbors'  back 
yards,  while  Truce,  from  her  shoulder,  watched  a  cat  on 
the  fence  with  mild  curiosity.  Jessamy  and  Barbara  put 
the  pillows  in  place,  and  gave  the  last  touches  to  their 
loops  and  ruffles. 

Tom  walked  over  to  Phyllis,  and  stood  beside  her. 
"What  do  you  say  about  me  going  to  Germany,  Phyl- 
lis? I  would  rather  have  your  opinion  than  any  one's, 
and  you  have  not  spoken."  His  tone  was  lower  than 
usual,  but  rather  as  if  the  subject  were  serious  than  to 
exclude  the  other  two. 

Phyllis  looked  up  at  him,  frankly  smiling.  "Mine?" 
she  said.  "Why,  Tom,  if  I  thought  you  would  heed  it 
I  would  n't  dare  give  it,  for  I  don't  know  anything  about 
what  is  best,  as  you  know  quite  well. ' ' 

' '  But  on  general  principles  ? ' '  insisted  Tom. 

"On  general  principles,  and  if  you  really  don't  care 
which  you  do,  then  I  think  'home-keeping  hearts  are 
happiest.'  That  little  song  has  been  haunting  me  all 
day,"  said  Phyllis.  "I  hate  to  think  of  you  so  far 
away,  alone,  and  for  so  long." 

"You  would  rather  I  did  not  go?  You  would  rather 
have  me  here,  in  New  York,  and  near  you  ? ' '  asked  Tom, 
eagerly. 

Phyllis  laughed,  and  pushed  her  hair,  getting  to  an 


154  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

inconvenient  length,  back  from  her  eyes  to  see  him  bet- 
ter. "Why,  Tom!"  she  said.  "What  a  foolish  ques- 
tion! Don't  you  know  I  would?  Are  n't  you  one  of 
ourselves,  and  should  n't  we  all  be  crippled  if  you  left 
us  ?  Unless  it  is  much  better  for  you,  I  should  feel  dread- 
fully to  think  of  losing  you  for  three  or  four  years." 

"Then  I  stay,"  said  Tom,  decidedly.  "For  general 
practice  I  can  get  all  the  training  I  need  in  our  own  hos- 
pitals, and  I  shall  stay.  You  've  settled  it,  Phyllis." 

Tom  repaired  to  the  bath-room  to  get  the  black  from 
the  curled  hair,  tacks,  and  hammer  off  his  hands,  and 
the  girls  went  out  to  get  dinner. 

Phyllis  sang  her  own  little  rhyme  of  the  morning  as 
she  peeled  potatoes  and  dipped  the  cutlets  in  eggs  and 
crumbs,  but  Jessamy  was  thoughtful,  and,  unlike  her- 
self, did  queer  things  setting  the  table.  Bab  was  silent ; 
her  cheeks  were  red,  and  her  manner  jerky.  Once  she 
ordered  Nixie  out  from  under  her  feet  sharply,  and  then 
sat  down  on  the  floor  to  hug  him  and  beg  the  pardon  he 
lavishly  accorded. 

At  dinner  Bab  and  Tom  nearly  fell  out  over  nothing 
more  likely  than  a  difference  of  opinion  as  to  a  political 
candidate,  though  it  turned  out  in  the  end  that  the  man 
Bab  denounced  so  fiercely  was  not  the  one  of  whom  she 
thought  she  was  speaking. 

Tom  went  home  early,  and  Mrs.  Wyndham  asked  Phyl- 
lis to  read  to  her  and  let  the  other  two  girls  attend  to 
the  dishes.  Every  one  seemed  a  trifle  disturbed  in  mind 
except  Phyllis,  who  was  as  happy  and  calm  as— Phyllis 


HOME-KEEPING  HEARTS  165 

Wyndham,  and  that  means  a  very  clear  and  peaceful 
calmness. 

Barbara  washed  the  dishes  and  Jessamy  wiped  them 
in  silence,  each  busy  with  her  own  thoughts.  At  last, 
when  Barbara  was  putting  the  butter  in  the  lower  part 
of  the  refrigerator,  and  Jessamy  was  hanging  her  wet 
dish-towels  on  the  line  to  dry,  Jessamy  said:  "Bab,  do 
tell  me ;  did  it  occur  to  you  this  afternoon  that  Tom  cared 
more  for  Phyllis 's  wishes  in  the  matter  of  his  going  to 
Germany  than  for  ours?" 

"Yes,"  said  Barbara,  shortly. 

"Have  you  thought  he  was  beginning  to  like— care 
for  Phyllis;  I  mean  differently  from  the  way  he  likes 
us— the  old  brotherly  way?"  said  Jessamy. 

"Yes,"  said  Barbara  again,  her  head  still  in  the  re- 
frigerator. 

"Lately?  When  did  you  begin  to  think  so?"  insisted 
Jessamy. 

"Yes,  lately;  the  last  three  or  four  times,  perhaps," 
said  Bab,  not  very  lucidly. 

"Phyl  does  n't  notice  it,  if  it  is  so,"  remarked  Jes- 
samy, thoughtfully.  "She  is  as  unconscious  as  the  new 
moon." 

There  was  no  remark  from  Bab  in  reply  to  this,  but 
the  cover  of  the  earthen  jar  she  was  putting  away  was 
set  in  place  with  rather  unnecessary  violence. 

"Well,"  said  Jessamy,  turning  from  the  last  refrac- 
tory towel,  into  which  she  had  forced  a  pin  with  diffi- 
culty, because  she  had  not  wrung  the  water  out  thor- 


156  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

oughly,  "well,  maybe  it  is  not  so  at  all;  we  must  n't 
get  sentimental,  contrary  to  our  habit,  and  imagine 
things;  but  I  really  could  n't  help  thinking  Tom  was  be- 
ginning to  care  for  Phyllis.  He  's  a  dear  boy,  just  as 
splendid  and  true  as  he  can  be ;  and  if  it  were  so,  and  she 
grew  to  care  about  him,  it  would  be  lovely,  would  n't  it?" 

Bab  withdrew  from  the  refrigerator  and  stood  up. 
Her  cheeks  were  very  red,  but  that  might  have  been  from 
long  stooping. 

"Lovely!"  she  said.  "I  don't  see  anything  lovely 
about  it!  I  think  it  is  all  horrid,  horrid— likings,  and 
changes,  and  growing  up,  and  everything !  For  goodness 
sake,  why  can't  we  stay  children  forever?" 

She  spoke  with  such  violence  and  excitement  in  her 
voice  that  Jessamy  stared  in  amazement  as  she  dashed 
through  the  dining-room  to  her  own  little  room. 

"Poor  Babbie!  I  did  n't  know  she  cared,"  thought 
Jessamy,  turning  down  the  gas  and  setting  the  milk- 
bottles  on  the  dumb-waiter.  ' '  She  does  love  to  be  a  little 
girl;  and  how  nice  it  would  be  if  we  all  could  be  little 
girls  for  years  and  years!" 


CHAPTER  X 


DISCOVERIES 

HERE  were  hints  of  spring  in  the  air. 
The  willows  near  the  northern  entrance 
to  Central  Park  had  a  filmy,  yellow- 
green  effect  in  the  distance,  as  if  the 
coming  leaves  were  foreshadowed  in 
a  mist  of  sap.  The  robins  were  full 
of  importance,  bustling  over  their  spring  arrangements, 
and  the  strawberry  venders  were  adding  their  discord- 
ant voices  to  the  necessary  city  sounds,  yet  adding,  too, 
to  the  general  cheerfulness  with  the  scarlet-laden  trays 
balanced  on  their  heads. 

The  Wyndhanas  had  prepared  for  a  pleasant  day. 
Ruth  had  come  to  spend  it  with  them,  and  hem  the  ruf- 
fles of  her  new  white  dimity.  Jessamy,  Phyllis,  and 
Barbara  had  sewing,  and  the  new  machine  which  they 
had  added  to  their  belongings  stood  ready,  with  its  top 
invitingly  laid  back,  in  Phyllis 's  room,  where  the  strong- 
est and  longest  light  came. 

"If  we  had  nothing  to  do  but  practise  a  little  music, 
get  through  a  little  shopping,  make  and  receive  a  few 

157 


158  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

calls,  we  should  miss  all  this  sort  of  pleasantness,"  said 
Jessamy,  touching  up  a  bow  on  a  hat  she  was  trimming, 
and  holding  it  off  to  look  at  it  with  one  eye  shut  in  true 
artistic  manner. 

"Half  the  best  things  of  life  are  not  to  be  met  on  the 
highways;  it  's  the  byways  which  are  loveliest,  figura- 
tively and  literally, ' '  said  Ruth,  contentedly. 

"That  sounds  like  a  poem  condensed  into  prose,"  re- 
marked Bab.  ' '  Are  you  going  to  drop  into  poetry  ? ' ' 

Euth  laughed.  "All  happy  people  must  be  more  or 
less  poetical,  I  fancy,"  she  said.  "I  wonder  if  Silas 
Wegg  meant  more  than  he  knew  when  he  talked  about 
dropping  into  poetry  in  the  light  of  a  friend  ?  If  you  're 
friendly  toward  life  and  people,  then  you  get  happy, 
then  poetical ;  it  's  a  clear  sequence  in  my  mind,  only  I 
have  n't  expressed  it  clearly." 

"Not  very,  Euth,  and  that  's  undeniable,"  laughed 
Phyllis.  ' '  I  am  perfectly  certain  Mr.  Wegg  meant  noth- 
ing so  complex.  However,  your  idea  is  all  right ;  I  know 
from  experience  one  becomes  a  poet  under  pressure  of 
happiness." 

"One  does;  the  rest  don't,"  said  Jessamy.  "Phyllis 
sings  yards  of  rhymes  when  she  's  jolly,  but  Bab  and 
I  remain  prose  copies." 

"Won't  you  show  me  that  story  you  wrote,  and  Jes- 
samy's  illustrations?"  said  Euth.  "I  '11  solemnly— and 
safely— promise  not  to  go  home  and  reproduce  either." 

Phyllis  arose  and  took  from  her  desk  several  sheets  of 
foolscap,  covered  with  painstaking  writing.  She  also 


DISCOVERIES  159 

produced  several  squares  of  Bristol  board,  and  gave  it 
all  into  Ruth's  hands.  "You  won't  appreciate  the  draw- 
ings unless  you  read  the  story,"  she  said.  "We  think 
Jessamy  has  come  out  in  an  entirely  new  vein,  and  never 
has  done  anything  to  compare  with  this." 

Ruth  looked  at  the  drawings  with  surprise  and  admi- 
ration growing  greater  every  moment.  ' '  Why, ' '  she  cried 
at  last,  "I  should  think  she  had  come  out  and  surpassed 
herself!  Why,  Jessamy,  they  're  exquisite!  Dainty, 
graceful,  but  strong,  and— I  can't  say  what  I  mean- 
original  is  a  stupid  word,  yet  I  can't  get  hold  of  a 
better." 

"Individual,  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  says,  and  she  knows," 
said  Barbara.  "The  story  is  good,  too." 

1 '  I  can 't  tell  what  has  happened  to  me, ' '  said  Jessamy, 
looking  very  glad.  "But  it  is  as  though  I  had  been 
groping  my  way  with  my  eyes  half-shut,  and  suddenly 
I  saw,  and  felt  as  well  as  saw,  just  where  I  belonged 
and  what  I  meant  to  express.  I  did  those  illustrations 
fast,  and  I  really  do  not  think  I  drew  one  line  with 
uncertainty.  It  is  the  strangest  thing,  but  I  feel  as 
though  I  had  discovered  myself,  and  could  do  what  I 
wanted  to  do.  Even  when  I  am  not  at  work  I  feel  the 
same  certainty  of  power.  It  is  the  most  glorious  feeling ! 
It  is  n't  one  bit  conceit,  but  I  can't  lose  the  impression 
of  being  equal  to  anything. ' ' 

"Well,  I  don't  know  much  about  artistic  matters, 
either  writing  or  drawing,  but  I  suppose  that  means  just 
what  you  say:  you  've  discovered  yourself,  and  if  you 


160  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

have,  you  're  bound  to  succeed,"  said  Ruth.  "What  are 
you  going  to  do  with  the  story  and  pictures  ?  Have  you 
sent  it  anywhere?" 

' '  Not  yet —  ' '  began  Jessamy,  but  Bab  interrupted  her. 
"She  must  take  it  herself,  and  show  it  to  one  of  the 
magazine  editors,  we  think,"  she  said. 

"They  say  it  is  just  as  well  to  send  things— better, 
perhaps,  since  editors  are  such  busy  men,"  said  Ruth. 
"But  whatever  you  do,,get  it  seen  soon." 

"We  are  going  to  collaborate,  and  grow  tremendously 
rich  and  famous,"  laughed  Phyllis,  putting  the  work 
back  in  the  desk.  ' '  There  's  our  bell ;  oh,  dear,  I  hope  no 
one  has  come  just  when  we  are  beginning  such  a  lovely 
day!" 

"It  is  Mrs.  Van  Alyn,  girls,  and  she  is  coming  in 
there,"  called  Bab,  from  the  hall. 

"I  have  come  to  be  disagreeable  and  spoil  all  your 
plans,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Alyn,  kissing  Phyllis  and  Jes- 
samy. "Don't  get  up,  dears;  the  end  of  the  bed  is  all 
I  want,  for  I  mean  to  hurry  off,  and  take  Jessamy  with 
me."  And  she  pushed  one  side  the  scattered  breadths 
of  an  organdie  Jessamy  was  cutting. 

"Oh,  don't  sit  on  Trucie!"  cried  Bab.  "He  's  some- 
where there  asleep,  after  bothering  our  lives  out." 

"Dear  me!"  cried  Mrs.  Van  Alyn,  jumping  up  has- 
tily. ' '  Why,  Barbara,  you  scamp,  why  did  you  frighten 
me  so  ?  The  kitten  is  rolled  up  in  the  pillow-sham ! ' ' 

"Did  you  say  you  wanted  me  to  go  out  with  you,  Mrs. 
Van  Alyn  1 ' '  asked  Jessamy. 


DISCOVERIES  161 

"Yes.     Where  is  your  mother?"  asked  their  friend. 

"Mama  went  to  market  to-day,  and  said  she  should  sit 
in  the  park  awhile;  she  has  n't  come  in,"  answered 
Jessamy. 

"Then  I  can  speak  in  ordinary  tones;  the  worst  of 
these  dear  little  apartments  is  that  the  rooms  are  so  close 
together  there  is  no  chance  for  secrets,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Van  Alyn.  "I  would  rather  your  mother  should  not 
know  my  errand,  for  very  likely  it  amounts  to  nothing, 
and  I  don 't  want  to  set  her  dreaming.  There  is  a  young 
lawyer  of  my  acquaintance— the  son  of  very  nice  people 
I  met  in  the  Berkshires — who  had  a  desk  in  one  of  Mr. 
Abbott's  offices  a  year  and  a  half  ago— the  winter  before 
the  trouble.  He  thinks  it  is  possible  that  he  may  be  able 
to  help  Mr.  Hurd  prove  that  Mr.  Abbott  put  his  prop- 
erty out  of  his  hands  too  late  for  it  to  have  been  legal, 
or  at  least  that  a  part  of  it  was  disposed  of  too  late. 
He  has  seen  Mr.  Hurd,  and  he  sent  Mr.  Robert  Lane — 
the  young  lawyer — to  me,  asking  me  to  let  him  meet  your 
mother.  But  I  prefer  to  save  her  possible  disappoint- 
ment, as  I  said,  so  I  am  going  to  carry  Jessamy  off  to 
lunch  with  me,  and  Mr.  Lane  will  call  at  half-past  two 
to  see  her.  You  know  enough  of  the  matter  to  satisfy 
him,  don 't  you,  Jessamy  ? ' ' 

"I  know  more  than  I  did  at  the  time  it  happened," 
said  Jessamy,  ' '  for  then  I  knew  nothing ;  I  have  tried  to 
learn  all  about  it  from  mama  since.  Of  course,  I  will 
go,  dear  Mrs.  Van  Alyn ;  you  are  always  so  good  to  us ! " 

"Nonsense,  my  dear!    There  is  not  much  goodness  in 


162  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

stealing  one  of  you  for  a  few  hours;  you  are  such  busy 
bees  nowadays  I  can  hardly  get  a  peep  at  you.  Make 
haste,  or  as  much  as  you  can  consistently  with  looking 
your  prettiest.  Old  Peter  is  driving  up  and  down,  and 
I  am  dreadfully  afraid  of  him;  he  looks  unutterable 
things  if  I  use  the  horses  more  than  he  approves.  Show 
me  all  your  pretty  things  while  Jessamy  is  dressing, 
Phyllida  and  Babette.  Little  Miss  Ruth  Wells,  you  are 
the  quickest  needlewoman  I  ever  saw.  I  wish  you  girls 
could  keep  me  here  all  day,  instead  of  the  exigencies  of 
the  law  driving  Jessamy  and  me  away.  There  are  never 
bright  spots  like  this  room  in  my  house."  And  Mrs. 
Van  Alyn's  sweet  face  clouded ;  her  three  little  girls,  who 
would  have  been  just  the  age  of  the  three  Wyndhams, 
had  slept  in  Greenwood  for  more  than  ten  years,  taken 
from  her  in  one  dreadful  week  by  diphtheria. 

"Ready,  Jessamy  sweet?"  she  asked,  as  Jessamy  came 
back,  looking  lovely  in  her  gray  gown,  with  the  blush 
roses  nestling  against  her  hair  under  the  soft  brim  of 
her  hat.  ' '  Come,  then ;  good-by,  Phyllida,  Babette,  little 
Ruth,  who  manages  to  glean  so  much  that  is  worth 
having.  Jessamy  shall  come  back  safely,  but  late; 
tell  your  mother  only  that  I  carried  her  off  to  spend  the 
day." 

"Would  n't  it  be  nice  if  we  could  get  some  of  our 
money  back?"  said  Barbara,  tickling  Truce's  nose  with 
the  end  of  his  long  tail,  when  she  had  come  back  from 
seeing  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  and  Jessamy  safely  off. 

' '  Nice !    It  would  be  just  fine, ' '  cried  Ruth.    ' '  Though 


DISCOVERIES  163 

that  does  n't  seem  quite  consistent  with  what  we  were 
saying  as  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  came  in. ' ' 

"  It  is  a  good  thing  we  have  learned  all  we  know  now, ' ' 
said  Phyllis,  thoughtfully.  "We  can  never  forget  it, 
and  be  the  sort  of  girls  we  should  have  been  if  we  had 
never  seen  the  seamy  side.  Still,  that  does  n  't  make  it  in- 
consistent to  be  glad  to  have  enough  not  to  feel  uncertain 
of  how  we  are  coming  out.  If  we  all  had  wealth— even 
great  wealth — again,  which  we  probably  shall  never  have, 
we  should  use  it  better  than  we  would  have  before  we 
learned  our  lesson;  we  cannot  forget  some  things  gained 
in  this  year." 

"You  probably  will  not,"  said  Ruth,  smiling  to  her- 
self, as  if  she  knew  something  that  amused  her  in  that 
connection. 

Phyllis  and  Bab  looked  up,  the  former  wonderingly, 
the  latter  with  a  sharp  look ;  her  tone  was  a  trifle  sharp 
also  as  she  asked :  ' '  What,  for  instance  ? ' ' 

"Making  croquettes,"  laughed  Ruth,  with  a  teasing 
look.  "I  suspect  some  of  you  have  gained  more  than 
you  realize." 

"Why  this  Guy  Fawkes— only  an  amiable  Guy  Fawkes 
—manner,  Ruth?"  asked  Phyllis.  "One  would  think 
there  were  something  funny  about  it,  and  we  were  talk- 
ing quite  seriously.  Bab  and  I  are  out  of  the  joke ;  what 
is  it?" 

"You  have  gained  a  kitten,  have  n't  you?"  hinted 
Ruth. 

Barbara  flushed  quickly,  but  Phyllis  smiled  frankly, 


164  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

and  said:  "Yes,  and  a  perfect  one  too,  and  we  have 
gained  the  friendship  of  Nixie  and  Nixie's  master,  and 
I  suppose  Tom  is  more  than  even  Truce;  at  any  rate, 
I  owe  Truce  to  him.  All  that  is  not  mysteriously  funny, 
though;  what  is  amusing  you?" 

"Phyllis  owns  the  kitten;  that  is  her  personal  gain." 

"Yes;  so  far,  maybe,  Phyllis  has  rather  the  heaviest 
score  to  her  credit  of  all  the  family.  The  matter  with 
me,  Phyl,  is  that  I  am  aching  to  tell  you  girls  something, 
and  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  or  not.  It  was  n't 
told  me;  I  found  it  out,  and  yet  it  is  a  secret,  and  per- 
haps you  won't  thank  me  for  telling,"  said  Ruth. 

"Does  it  concern  us,  and  what  has  happened  to  us  in 
the  past  year  ? ' '  asked  Phyllis,  mystified. 

"Secrets  are  likely  to  make  mischief;  I  am  sure  this 
is  one  that  will  upset  things.  Yet  you  might  as  well 
tell  now,  for  we  shall  guess  it ;  it  is  the  kind  that  is  likely 
to  come  out  anyway,  is  n  't  it  ? "  asked  Bab,  in  a  manner 
most  unlike  herself. 

It  was  Ruth's  turn  to  look  surprised.  "You  must  have 
some  idea  of  what  it  is,"  she  said. 

' '  I  could  guess, ' '  said  Barbara,  briefly. 

"Well,  I  do  not  think  this  is  fair,"  said  Phyllis.  "I 
seem  to  be  the  only  one  in  the  dark.  Tell  the  secret, 
Ruth,  unless  you  really  can't." 

"Well,  then— oh,  I  feel  mean  telling  you,  but  girls 
can 't  keep  secrets  anyway,  and  this  is  such  a  lovely  one ! 
What  did  you  do  with  your  hair  when  it  was  cut  off?" 
said  Ruth,  speaking  very  fast  at  the  last. 


DISCOVERIES  165 

"I?  I  did  n't  do  anything  with  it;  how  could  I,  when 
I  was  so  ill?"  asked  Phyllis.  "If  you  mean  what  was 
done  with  it,  I  believe  each  of  the  family  kept  a  lock 
and  burned  the  rest." 

"All  of  it?"  asked  Ruth,  knowingly. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Ruth ;  what  are  you  getting  at?" 
inquired  Phyllis,  impatiently. 

"Tom  came  to  see  me  the  other  night,"  said  Ruth. 
' '  He  wanted  to  show  me  something  one  of  his  sisters  had 
written  him,  and  he  pulled  a  lot  of  papers  out  of  his 
pocket,  hunting  for  the  letter.  A  great  many  fell  on  the 
floor,  and  though  we  thought  he  had  gathered  them  all 
up,  I  spied  a  narrow  one,  quite  worn  in  the  folds,  under 
the  sofa  some  half  an  hour  later.  I  picked  it  up,  and 
was  going  to  hand  it  to  him  when  a  long  lock  of  hair 
slipped  out.  Then  I  did  n't  dare  let  him  know  I  had 
seen  it,  so  I  made  an  excuse  to  get  out  of  the  room  and 
popped  it  into  his  overcoat  pocket.  But  before  I  did  so 
I  saw  what  was  written  on  the  outside  of  the  paper,  and 
the  paper  was  worn  and  had  been  folded  small,  and  the 
ends  were  wrinkled  as  if  it  had  been  in  a  bag ;  I  believe 
he  had  worn  it  around  his  neck,  Phyllis.  And  on  the 
paper  was  written:  'Christmas  Eve,  1901.  "Nay,  but 
you  who  do  not  love  her,  is  she  not  pure  gold"  —Brown- 
ing, you  know!  And  the  initials  'P.'—" 

"Stop,  stop,  Ruth!"  cried  Phyllis,  her  hands  over  her 
ears,  her  face  crimson. 

"What  is  the  use  of  stopping  her  at  one  letter?  You 
have  heard  the  whole  story, ' '  said  Bab. 


166  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

Phyllis 's  face  was  full  of  a  strange  light;  shame, 
regret,  joy,  shyness— all  were  there;  but,  above  all,  won- 
der. ' '  You  ought  not  to  have  told  me ;  I  ought  not  to  have 
listened,"  she  said.  "But  even  if— if  it  were  mine—  " 

' '  It  was, ' '  interrupted  Ruth,  with  decision. 

"Well,  if  it  was,  what  of  it?  Surely  there  is  nothing 
strange  in  carrying  a  friend's  hair,  and  especially  when 
you  thought  she  was  dying,"  stammered  Phyllis. 

"You  have  n't  been  dying  all  this  time,  miss ;  and  what 
about  the  Browning  line  ? ' '  suggested  Ruth. 

"Perhaps  boys  are  like  girls,  after  all,  and  like  to 
play  at  being  sentimental, ' '  said  Phyllis.  "  It  is  mean  of 
us  to  spy  on  Tom ;  I  suppose  boys  like  to  dream.  Do  you 
remember,  Bab,  that  funny  little  peanut  Italian  boy  we 
used  to  watch  for  when  we  were  about  eleven,  and  how  we 
used  to  wear  a  peanut  for  a  badge  to  show  how  we  all 
three  admired  him  ?  Were  n  't  we  funny  little  monkeys  ? ' ' 

' '  I  have  some  recollection  of  the  peanut  Italian, ' '  said 
Bab,  "though  I  am  not  sure  we  could  find  that  quarter 
of  Italy  on  the  map.  It  strikes  me  some  of  us  are  rather 
funny  monkeys  still." 

"Trying  to  change  the  subject,  Phyl?"  teased  Ruth. 
"Did  you  think  sensible  Tom  would  be  your  first—" 

"You  must  not,  Ruth ;  I  won't  let  you !"  cried  Phyllis, 
in  sincere  distress.  "Please  don't  talk  about  it;  please 
never  jest  about  it.  I  would  give  the  world  not  to  have 
heard  of  it.  It  does  n't  mean  one  thing;  Tom  is  fond 
of  us  all,  quite  fond  enough  to  carry  all  our  hair  in  his 
pocket — ' ' 


DISCOVERIES  167 

"That  is  a  proof  of  affection,"  said  Bab,  laughing. 
"All  our  hair!  Dear  me!  Still,  I  agree  with  Phyllis; 
we  ought  all  be  spanked  for  our  impertinence;  let  's 
change  the  subject.  If  we  get  silly  and  sentimental,  we 
sha'n't  be  able  to  stand  ourselves.  I  hate  sentiment, 
and  I  hate  a  fool,  like  Mr.  F.  's  aunt  in  '  Little  Dorrit ' ! 
What  a  dear  old  lady  she  was;  so  sensible!  Don't  tell 
Jessamy  this  trash.  Ruth  Wells,  I  dare  you  to  try  a 
griddle-cake  race  with  me  at  luncheon.  We  '11  make  the 
yellow  bowl  full,  and  I  dare  you  to  race  me  eating  them." 

"Why,  Barbara  Wyndham,  do  you  want  to  kill  your- 
self? You  know  they  always  hurt  you!"  said  Phyllis, 
horrified.  "And  a  race  eating!  Ruth,  don't  do  it!" 

"Why  should  I  want  to  kill  myself  just  when  we  're 
all  so  happy,  and  everything  is  going  beautifully  1 ' '  cried 
Bab.  "Come  on,  Ruth!"  And  she  gathered  up  her 
skirts  and  danced  toward  the  kitchen,  singing  cake- 
walk  music,  and  swinging  her  body  in  the  real  plantation 
manner. 

Ruth,  always  ready  for  anything,  followed  her,  while 
Phyllis  went  to  let  in  her  aunt,  who  rang  at  that  moment. 
Then  she  continued  her  way,  and  stood  leaning  her  hot 
cheeks  against  the  glass  of  the  parlor  window. 

Tom!  Her  hair!  She  had  not  believed  a  word  she 
had  said  of  it  being  only  boyish  sentiment.  Was  she 
glad  or  sorry?  She  did  not  know;  it  spoiled  all  the  old, 
unconscious  friendliness,  but  then  it  was  beautiful  to 
feel  that  dear  Tom  cared  for  her  all  alone,  and  for  her- 
self, not  as  "one  of  the  Wyndham  girls."  Whether  she 


168  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

was  fonder  of  him  than  she  had  guessed  she  could  not 
tell  in  this  first  confused  pleasure  and  regret;  all  she 
knew  was  that  she  could  not  let  any  one  speak  of  it ;  it 
was  something  to  keep  all  to  herself  and  dream  over, 
while  she  was  pretending  to  Babbie  and  Ruth  that  she 
had  forgotten  all  about  it.  Whether  she  was  glad  or 
sorry,  it  was  a  lovely  thing  to  have  happen  to  a  girl,  and 
she  hardly  knew  herself  for  little  Phyllis  in  the  new  light 
it  shed  around  her.  She  caught  up  Truce,  and  laid  his 
purring  little  throat  against  her  cheek;  Truce  was  very 
fond  of  her,  and  he  was  part  of  Tom's  kindness. 

Phyllis  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  found 
Ruth  in  a  gale  of  laughter  and  Bab  as  full  of  pranks 
as  a  monkey.  She  mimicked  old  black  Sally,  then  scolded 
herself,  impersonating  Aunt  Henrietta,  till  Phyllis  had 
to  sit  down  and  gasp  for  breath,  and  Ruth  was  so  weak 
from  laughing  that  she  could  not  stir  the  cake-batter. 

All  lunch-time  Bab  talked  a  stream  of  nonsense  that 
made  her  mother  shake  her  head  between  peals  of  laugh- 
ter, and  warn  her  that  such  high  spirits  usually  preceded 
the  other  extreme  with  her  mercurial  little  self.  But 
Bab  was  irrepressible,  and  both  Ruth  and  Phyllis  begged 
for  mercy,  till  Bab  seated  herself  at  her  piano  and  played 
dance  music  and  made  them  dance  till  they  could  no 
longer  stand. 

"Now,  who  says  three  girls  can't  have  a  jolly  time, 
with  nothing  but  themselves  to  make  it  jolly?"  de- 
manded Barbara.  "Phyllis,  when  Ruth  goes  home,  you 
are  to  go  with  her;  you  have  n't  been  out  to-day." 


DISCOVERIES  169 

"Is  that  a  hint?"  asked  Ruth.  "You  need  n't  send 
me  home,  Mistress  Barbara,  because  I  was  going  anyway. 
I  promised  mother  to  get  home  early,  so  that  she  could 
go  out.  Will  you  come  with  me,  Phyllis  ? ' ' 

"No;  Babbie  and  I  are  going  to  sew  longer,"  replied 
Phyllis. 

"Babbie  and  you  are  going  to  do  nothing  of  the  sort. 
You  must  take  your  airing,  and  I  shall  rest ;  I  am  sure  I 
have  earned  it,"  said  Bab,  decidedly. 

Accordingly,  Phyllis  left  the  house  with  Ruth,  but  she 
was  not  in  the  mood  for  walking  all  the  way  home  with 
her  friend.  She  went  but  part  way,  then  returned,  and 
let  herself  in  with  her  key  half  an  hour  later.  The  house 
was  very  still,  and  Phyllis,  moving  softly,  saw  that  her 
aunt  was  asleep  in  her  own  room.  Passing  on  down  the 
narrow  hall,  she  came  to  Bab's  door,  and  stopped  short 
at  what  she  saw.  There  lay  Barbara,  flat  on  her  face, 
which  was  buried  in  the  pillow.  Stifled  moans  came 
from  the  slender  figure,  which  was  shaking  with  sobs  so 
violent  that  Phyllis 's  heart  stood  still  with  terror;  the 
first  thought  that  crossed  her  mind  was  that  something 
awful  had  happened  to  Jessamy,  or  that  her  aunt  was 
not  sleeping,  but  had  died,  and  Bab  knew  it. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Bab",  what  is  it;  tell  me,"  she 
whispered,  laying  her  hand  on  the  heaving  shoulder. 

Barbara  started  as  though  she  had  been  shot.  "You 
here  ? ' '  she  gasped.  ' '  Where  did  you  come  from  ? ' ' 

"What  has  happened?  Is  it  Jessamy?"  whispered 
Phyllis. 


170  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"Nothing  has  happened;  do  let  me  alone!  I — I  have 
a  headache,"  said  poor  Bab. 

"Nothing  happened?"  repeated  Phyllis,  sitting  down 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  gathering  her  cousin  into 
her  arms.  ' '  Dear,  darling  Babbie,  are  you  ill  ?  Are  n  't 
you  happy?" 

"Happy!"  echoed  Bab,  scornfully;  then  she  seemed 
to  recall  herself,  and  said  quickly :  "  It  's  just  as  Madrina 
said:  I  was  too  gay,  that  's  all;  this  is  the  reaction." 

"Bab,  that  is  not  true;  you  were  gay  because  you  were 
trying  to  hide  something,"  said  Phyllis,  slowly.  "What 
is  wrong  with  you,  dearie?  Tell  Phyllis;  you  know  she 
will  help  you." 

"What  do  you  care?"  asked  Bab,  bitterly,  putting 
down  her  head  on  the  pillow  and  withdrawing  from 
Phyllis 's  arms.  "You  have  everything  a  girl  could  ask; 
what  do  you  care  about  me?" 

"Why,  Bab,  how  unjust  you  are!  As  though  I  could 
be  happy  if  you  were  n't!  And  what  have  I  that  you 
have  not— ' '  Phyllis  stopped  suddenly.  An  idea  crossed 
her  mind  that  made  her  breath  come  in  a  swift  sob.  Oh, 
surely  that  was  not  it;  Bab  was  a  child—  "Are  you 
really  in  pain,  Babbie  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  Let  me  send  word 
to  Tom ;  he  will  help  you ;  he  would  do  anything  for  you, 
you  know,"  she  said,  with  sudden  cunning. 

"Anything  you  asked  him  too,"  said  Bab.  "I  have 
known  about  Tom  for  some  time,  Phyllis.  That  was  not 
news  to  me  to-day.  Of  course,  I  don't  want  his  help, 
nor  any  medicine.  And  I  wish  you  would  let  me  alone, 


DISCOVERIES  171 

Phyllis;  I  don't  want  you  to  touch  me,  or  bother  with 
me.  I  have  a  headache ;  you  said  those  cakes  would  hurt 
me.  Can't  I  have  a  headache  or  be  blue  without  being 
bothered?  You  all  think  I  never  have  a  sober  moment 
because  I  generally  am  cutting  capers.  I  '11  caper  again, 
never  fear.  But,  honestly,  I  don't  want  to  see  you  now, 
Phyllis.  I  hope  I  'm  not  rude,  but  you  're  driving  me 
mad.  Do  go!  I  hoped  you  were  out  of  the  house  for 
an  hour  or  so.  Flats  are  horrid!  A  body  can't  cry  a 
minute  in  one.  Go,  go,  go,  Phyllis ;  only  go. ' '  Barbara 
was  getting  hysterical,  and  Phyllis  rose  without  another 
word.  Her  own  face  was  full  of  pain  as  she  turned  away, 
and  her  eyes  looked  big  with  dismayed  surprise.  She 
turned  back  and  kissed  Barbara.  "You  '11  be  better 
if  you  take  a  nap,"  she  said.  It  cut  her  like  a  knife  that 
Bab  shrank  from  her  lips. 

Phyllis  went  to  her  own  room,  and  sat  down  in  her 
little  rocking-chair  without  taking  off  her  hat.  Here 
was  trouble  indeed,  and  childhood 's  peaceful  days  looked 
very  sweet  and  distant. 


CHAPTER  XI 

LOYAL  PHYLLIS 

HYLLIS  sat  looking,  with  unseeing 
eyes,  out  upon  the  small  courtyard 
below  her  window  for  more  than  an 
hour.  All  day  her  brain  had  been 
full  of  sweet,  indefinite  girlish  dreams 
from  which  Bab's  grief  had  aroused 
her  into  most  definitely  unpleasant  waking.  She  was  a 
sensible  little  body,  and  she  knew  that  she  was  not  yet 
fond  enough  of  Tom  to  make  it  tragic  that  she  must 
find  measures  to  break  off  his  increasing  affection  for 
her;  nor  was  she  conceited  enough  to  believe  that  it 
would  be  fatal  to  Tom's  happiness  for  all  time  to  drive 
him  from  her.  It  was  as  though  a  vision  of  vague  and 
beautiful  possibilities  had  arisen  before  her,  from  which 
she  must  turn  away  her  eyes;  it  was  not  that  she  was 
rejecting  a  present  good,  but  that  which  might  grow 
into  a  very  precious  gift  in  the  future.  She  shrank  from 
the  idea  of  a  lover  yet,  feeling  too  young  and  too  con- 
tent in  her  girlhood  to  tolerate  losing  it,  but  Tom  was  a 
dear,  good,  splendid  boy,  and  by  and  by,  possibly,  when 
she  was  older  and  ready  to  be  a  woman— then  who  could 

172 


LOYAL  PHYLLIS  173 

tell?  Perhaps  she  would  grow  fonder  of  him— so  fond 
that — 

And  at  that  point  Phyllis  had  shyly  stopped,  even  in 
her  thoughts;  but  it  had  been  delicious  to  dream,  thus 
vaguely,  all  day  since  Ruth  had  told  the  mischievous 
secret.  Now  Phyllis  felt,  without  a  moment's  doubt,  that 
she  must  dream  no  more. 

If  Bab  already  cared  so  much  that  Tom's  preference 
for  her  cousin  could  cost  her  such  bitter  tears,  their 
source  but  ill  concealed,  then  Phyllis  knew  that  her  duty 
was  to  turn  away  from  rose-colored  visions  and  try  to 
bring  about  Bab's  happiness. 

She  had  a  sorrowful  feeling  that  when  she  had  closed 
the  front  door  behind  her,  and  walked  in  upon  weeping 
Babbie,  she  had  shut  it  upon  her  first  careless  youth, 
and  was  beginning  to  grow  up  and  face  a  grown-up  girl 's 
puzzles.  For  in  stories  sometimes  two  friends  were 
rivals,  and  all  sorts  of  catastrophes  came  from  the  situ- 
ation, and  one  or  both  of  the  heroines  had  a  hard  lot  to 
bear.  Well,  she  and  Bab  were  never  to  be  rivals,  that 
was  certain ;  how  absurd  it  all  was,  and  how  sensible  Tom 
would  laugh  if  he  could  know  her  thoughts !  But,  after 
all,  it  was  not  absurd,  but  the  beginning  of  what  might 
prove  a  real  sorrow  if  some  one  did  not  prevent  it;  and 
no  one  but  she  herself  could  remedy  the  matter,  if  it  could 
be  done  at  all.  Yes,  she  felt  sure  it  could  be  done,  and 
that  there  was  only  one  way  to  do  it.  If  that  way  in- 
volved sacrifice  for  herself,  that  did  not  make  it  less 
her  duty.  She  would  rather  die  than  stand  in  the  way 


174  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

of  Barbara's  good,  much  rather  die  than  be  the  one 
to  deprive  either  of  her  adopted  sisters  of  anything 
essential  to  her  happiness ;  for  they  were  dearer  and  more 
to  be  considered  that  they  were  not  her  own  sisters,  but 
the  children  of  the  uncle  and  aunt  to  whom  she  owed 
so  much.  Phyllis  thought  and  thought,  and  it  seemed  to 
her  the  only  thing  that  she  could  do  was  to  drop  out 
of  the  little  home  which  was  dearer  to  her,  if  possible, 
than  to  either  of  the  others,  and  go  away  for  a  while, 
until  Tom  should  have  grown  sensible  enough  to  see  how 
much  nicer  Bab  really  was  than  she.  When  that  happy 
day  had  come  she  would  come  back;  she  hoped  it  would 
not  be  long  coming,  for  her  heart  sickened  within  her  at 
the  thought  of  herself  alone  from  home.  There  was  that 
dear  old  lady  in  Boston;  she  would  write  her,  and  ask 
her  if  the  place  as  companion  she  had  promised  her  when- 
ever she  claimed  it  were  still  open  to  her,  and  if  it  were 
she  would  pack  her  trunk  and  slip  out,  and  the  blessed 
"  square  of  Wyndhams,"  as  they  called  the  happy  four 
constituting  their  family,  would  be  a  four  no  longer. 

Above  all,  Mrs.  Wyndham  must  not  guess  the  true 
reason  of  her  going,  for  she  would  never  consent  to  Phyl- 
lis going  away  for  Barbara's  sake.  Jessamy?  Yes,  she 
would  tell  Jessamy,  for  she  must  have  an  assistant  in 
furthering  her  plans,  both  in  getting  away  and  in  seeing 
that  Barbara  was  helped  toward  the  happiness  she  might 
miss  if  let  alone ;  for  Phyllis  had  heard  that  girls  in  love 
sometimes  did  such  dreadful  things  that  they  drove  off 
the  blessing  they  craved.  She  had  known  such  cases,  she 


LOYAL  PHYLLIS  175 

thought,  then  remembered  that  her  experience  was  con- 
fined to  the  book-shelves,  and  that  the  only  case  in  point 
she  had  encountered  was  Hetty  Lambert's,  in  "The 
Virginians. ' ' 

Phyllis  had  reached  this  stage  of  her  meditations,  and 
had  wiped  away  some  quiet  tears  which  would  come  as 
she  planned  giving  up  everything  she  loved,  even  for  a 
time,  when  the  bell  rang,  and  she  rose  to  let  in  Jessamy, 
radiant,  lovely,  at  the  end  of  a  very  happy  day. 

' '  Bab  has  a  headache,  and  auntie  is  lying  down, ' '  said 
Phyllis.  ' '  Is  there  any  news,  Jessamy  ? ' ' 

"Mr.  Lane  thinks  the  prospect  is  good  of  our  recover- 
ing something,"  said  Jessamy,  going  into  Phyllis 's  room 
to  take  off  her  hat.  ' '  He  is  the  nicest  person !  Beauti- 
ful manners,  and  decidedly  good-looking—well  bred, 
you  know, ' '  Jessamy  added,  as  if  she  could  say  no  more, 
as  indeed  she  could  not,  being  the  sort  of  girl  she  was. 
"I  had  a  lovely  day;  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  is  perfect.  Why 
have  you  your  hat  on?  Have  you  been  out,  or  are  you 
going?  It  is  nearly  dinner-time.  When  did  Ruth  go?" 

"Ruth  went  rather  early;  I  forgot  my  hat.  I  walked 
with  her  a  little  way,  and  have  been  sitting  here,  think- 
ing, ever  since,"  said  Phyllis,  taking  out  her  hat-pins  and 
tossing  her  hat  on  the  bed  with  a  gesture  as  though  flow- 
ers and  their  getting  tumbled  were  beneath  her  interest. 

' '  Anything  wrong,  Phyl  ?  You  've  been  crying ! ' '  said 
Jessamy,  turning  from  the  glass  with  a  sharp  look  at  her 
cousin.  "What  ails  Bab?  She  never  has  headaches." 

"There  's  nothing  very  wrong,  Jessamy;  nothing  we 


176  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

can't  set  right,"  said  Phyllis.  "It  is  a  story  too  long  to 
tell  you  now,  but  I  'm  going  to  tell  you  as  soon  as  we  can 
get  off  somewhere  together.  It  is  a  solemn  secret,  mind, 
and  you  're  not  to  tell  a  soul — not  even  auntie.  Don't 
appear  to  see  anything  queer  about  Bab  to-night,  and 
to-morrow  come  with  me  into  the  park  and  we  '11  talk  it 
out." 

"Then  it  is  about  Bab?"  said  Jessamy,  looking  puz- 
zled. "Bab,  of  all  people!  She  was  all  right  when  I 
went  away;  I  don't  see  how  I  can  wait  until  to-morrow 
to  hear  the  secret,  Phyllis.  It  can't  be  very  trifling, 
when  you  show  no  interest  in  getting  our  money  back." 

"It  -is  just  a  horrid  little  snarl,  Amy,  but  nothing 
worse ;  you  and  I  will  unravel  it.  Hush !  I  hear  auntie, 
and  Bab  is  moving  about  in  her  room.  Let  's  put  the 
kettle  on;  there  's  nothing  like  the  kitchen  for  troubled 
minds!  Don't  you  dare  look  thoughtful  this  evening, 
nor  try  to  guess  what  I  've  on  my  mind  by  studying  me, 
or  Bab  will  see.  I  am  going  to  tell  you  as  soon  as  I  can. 
Better  change  your  dress,  Jessamy;  I  '11  whisk  on  my 
apron,  and  get  the  water  boiling,"  Phyllis  added  in  a 
louder  tone,  as  her  aunt  came  down  the  hall. 

In  spite  of  Phyllis 's  warning,  Jessamy  found  her  eyes 
wandering  from  her  face  to  Bab's  all  through  dinner. 
One  she  saw  was  clouded,  discontented,  very  unlike  its 
usually  bright  self;  the  other,  grave,  but  patient  and 
sweet:  neither  helped  her  to  a  solution  of  the  mystery 
in  the  air. 

There  was  no  possibility  of  waiting  for  the  morrow  to 


LOYAL  PHYLLIS  177 

hear  Phyllis 's  story.  Curiosity  made  it  more  than  easy 
for  Jessamy  to  keep  awake  until  her  mother  and  Bab 
were  asleep,  and,  creeping  to  Phyllis 's  door,  she  soon 
satisfied  herself  that  her  cousin  was  as  wakeful  as  she 
was.  "Get  on  your  wrapper  and  come  into  the  kitchen, 
Phyl ;  I  'm  wild  to  hear  what  you  have  to  tell  me, ' '  she 
said  through  a  crack  in  the  door. 

Phyllis  opened  it  at  once.  "I  '11  come,"  she  said. 
' '  Don 't  make  a  sound. ' ' 

Jessamy  went  down  the  hall  in  the  dark,  and  Phyllis 
followed  her  in  a  few  moments,  wrapped  in  her  eider- 
down wrapper,  soundless  knit  slippers  on  her  feet,  and 
Truce  in  her  arms,  for  the  kitten  was  her  bedfellow,  and 
was  so  spoiled  that  he  would  have  cried  and  aroused  the 
household  if  he  had  wakened  to  find  himself  alone. 

"Now,"  said  Jessamy,  carefully  and  noiselessly  clos- 
ing the  door  behind  Phyllis,  and  taking  the  straight 
chair,  having  pulled  the  rocker  forward  for  her  cousin, 
' '  now,  tell  me. ' '  Phyllis  seated  herself,  tucking  her  feet 
up  on  the  round  of  the  chair  and  pulling  her  wrapper 
down  around  them,  for  the  floor  was  cold.  Truce  imme- 
diately took  up  the  post  under  the  tubs  which  he  always 
assumed  to  look  for  the  mice  which  never  came. 

"Well,  Jessamy,"  Phyllis  began,  "it  is  not  the  sort  of 
news  you  expect,  no  matter  what  you  have  guessed  it 
to  be.  Babbie  has  fallen  in  love  with  Tom." 

"Bab?"  exclaimed  Jessamy,  so  loudly  that  Phyllis  had 
to  warn  her  to  be  careful.  "But  that  is  impossible! 
Why,  Tom  is  beginning  to  care  for  you." 


178  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"How  did  you  know  that?"  demanded  Phyllis,  sitting 
up  straight.  ' '  Bab  said,  too,  she  had  thought  so  for  some 
time.  I  never  dreamed  such  a  thing  until  Ruth  told  us 
something  to-day.  It  is  all  horrid,  Jessamy,  and  I  wish 
we  were  back  to  our  doll  days. ' ' 

"What  did  Ruth  tell  you?  What  makes  you  fancy 
such  nonsense  about  Bab?"  asked  Jessamy;  but,  as  she 
spoke,  the  memory  of  Bab's  curt  manner  when  she  had 
spoken  of  Tom 's  caring  for  Phyllis  came  back  to  her  with 
a  pang  of  foreboding. 

Phyllis  recounted,  without  interruption  from  Jessamy, 
the  secret  that  Ruth  had  discovered,  and  Bab's  subse- 
quent behavior.  Then,  without  waiting  for  comment  from 
Jessamy,  she  said:  "There  's  only  one  thing  for  me  to 
do,  Jessamy;  I  'm  going  to  slip  out  and  leave  Tom  to 
love  the  right  girl,  if  he  loves  a  Wyndham  at  all.  I  'm 
going  to  write  to  Boston  to  Mrs.  Dean,  and  ask  if  she 
will  take  me,  as  she  said  she  would.  I  shall  stay  there 
until  the  trouble  blows  over,  and  you  will  get  a  maid 
to  do  the  work,  which  would  be  too  much  for  you  with- 
out me;  we  could  afford  it  as  it  is,  so  we  certainly  can 
when  I  am  earning  money." 

Jessamy  rose  and  put  her  arms  around  Phyllis,  kneel- 
ing at  her  side.  ' '  My  dear,  good,  unselfish  Phyllis, ' '  she 
said,  "if  you  won't  let  me  tell  mama— and  I  think  it  is 
right  not  to,  because  it  would  worry  her  dreadfully  to 
think  there  was  no  way  of  keeping  pain  from  one  or  the 
other  of  her  girls— you  force  me  to  act  as  I  know  she 
would  if  she  were.  told.  Bab  is  not  the  only  one  to  be 


LOYAL  PHYLLIS  179 

considered ;  yon  have  just  as  much  right  to  be  happy  as 
she.  And  there  is  Tom.  It  is  you,  not  Bab,  he  has  turned 
to ;  is  it  just  to  give  him  no  thought  ?  And  are  you  sure 
you  don't  care  a  little  bit  for  him,  dear?" 

' '  I  have  tried  to  be  very  honest,  Jessamy, ' '  said  Phyl- 
lis, slowly.  ' '  I  like  Tom ;  I  believe  I  could  do  more  than 
like  him  by  and  by.  Wait!  But  I  don't  love  him;  I 
never  thought  of  loving  any  one  until  to-day.  I  liked  to 
think  of  it— I  '11  confess  that— but  before  the  thought 
had  a  chance  to  do  any  harm  I  found  out  about  Babbie ; 
was  n't  it  lucky,  Jessamy?  As  to  Tom,  it  is  only  a  boy- 
ish fancy,  and  he  will  get  so  much  the  better  bargain  in 
getting  Bab  that  there  is  no  reason  to  be  sorry  for  him." 

"Neither  mama  nor  I  would  admit  that,  though  Bab- 
bie is  a  splendid,  true,  loving  girl,"  said  Jessamy.  "But 
there  never  was  but  one  Phyllis,  and  you  must  know 
that  if  Bab  is  my  own  sister,  you  have  always  been  even 
dearer  to  me  than  she.  I  won't  have  you  sacrifice  your- 
self, Phyllis,  not  for  any,  or  all  of  us,  so  you  may  make 
up  your  mind  this  moment  that  I  will  not  help  your  plan 
out  till  I  have  thought  a  long  time.  And  how  do  you 
suppose  we  shall  bear  letting  you  go?" 

"And  how  do  you  suppose  I  shall  bear  going?"  re- 
torted Phyllis.  "Even  Trucie  is  dear,  and  I  can't  bear 
to  leave  him.  But  it  is.  the  only  way  to  bring  things 
straight.  As  to  sacrificing  myself,  if  I  were  to  be  happy 
at  Bab's  expense,  I  could  n't  be  happy— to  make  a  fine 
bull.  But  don't  let  us  get  sentimental  and  exaggerate 
the  case,  Jessamy.  I  am  just  running  away  from  a  pos- 


180  THE  WYNDHAM  GIKLS 

sibility ;  I  might  have  something  beautiful  in  the  end,  if 
there  were  no  reason  why  I  should  not  have  it ;  but  again 
I  might  never  find  it  beautiful.  In  the  meantime  here  is 
Babbie,  really  unhappy,  jealous  of  me,  wanting  posi- 
tively what  I  might  possibly  have  wanted,  but  never 
could  want  now.  Do  you  realize  how  dreadful  it  was 
to  have  Bab,  our  own  Bab,  shrink  away  from  me  when 
I  kissed  her,  and  to  feel  that  she  was  actually  jealous 
of  me?  Why,  I  would  n't  have  such  a  thing  as  that  be- 
tween our  love,  breaking  up  the  fondest  affection  three 
girls  ever  felt  for  one  another,  for  all  the  splendid  boys 
in  the  world!  So  help  me  away,  Jessamy;  help  me  get 
auntie's  consent,  and  help  me  keep  up  heart  to  leave 
home  for  the  first  time  in  my  life ;  for,  honestly,  I  am  a 
coward  at  the  thought  of  it.  And,  after  I  am  gone,  help 
Barbara  be  happy. ' ' 

"Do  you  ever  think,  my  darling  old  Loyalty,"  said 
Jessamy,  with  a  hug,  "that  you  may  be  throwing  away 
a  very  precious  thing— for  I  feel  sure  you  could  care 
for  Tom,  and  he  is  not  a  man  to  be  met  with  every  day 
—throwing  it  away  all  for  nothing?  That  you  may 
wean  him  from  you  without  turning  him  to  Bab,  and 
that  Bab  herself  may  be  passing  through  a  mere  girlish 
fancy?" 

Phyllis  was  silent  a  moment,  then  she  said  slowly: 
"I  never  once  thought  of  that,  but  I  must  n't  think  of 
it  now.  I  must  do  what  is  right,  and  hope  for  the  best. 
I  don't  think  Babbie  is  the  sort  to  take  silly,  trifling  little 
fancies,  and  you  don't  think  so,  either.  Tom  must  care 


LOYAL  PHYLLIS  181 

for  her,  since  he  is  goose  enough  not  to  care  for  you,  be- 
cause he  will  never  find  any  one  to  compare  with  you 
two.  But  if  he  did  n't  love  Bab  at  last,  at  least  she 
would  not  think  I  had  robbed  her,  and  I  would  n't  have 
that  thought  to  torture  me,  and  we  'd  still  have  one  an- 
other; and  I  always  did  say,  having  that,  nothing  else 
mattered. ' ' 

Jessamy  drew  the  pretty  head,  with  its  soft  rings  of 
hair,  down  on  her  shoulder,  and  kissed  Phyllis  with  a 
tenderness  that  was  almost  motherly.  "You  are  the  best, 
the  truest  girl  that  ever  lived,  Phyllis,  and  I  respect  you 
even  more  than  I  love  you.  Bab  ought  to  be  thankful 
on  her  knees  for  such  generous  love  as  yours,  if  she  never 
gets  any  other  kind.  You  shall  go,  dear;  I  won't  say 
one  word  against  it,  and  I  '11  help  you  all  I  can.  If 
mama  could  know  this  she  would  be  quite  overcome  with 
your  devotion  to  Bab.  I  only  hope  Bab  will  be  worthy 
of  your  love  and  truth." 

"I  'd  do  just  as  much  for  you,  Jessamy, ' '  said  Phyllis, 
looking  up  slyly  through  the  tears  she  was  shedding  on 
her  cousin's  blue  jacket. 

' '  Don 't  you  imply  I  don 't  appreciate  your  love,  miss, ' ' 
said  Jessamy.  ' '  Go  to  bed,  Phylkins ;  you  are  cold.  And 
go  to  sleep ;  perhaps  you  have  imagined  more  than  the 
truth,  and  you  won't  go  away,  after  all.  To  think  of 
your  giving  up  a  lover  to  Bab!  It  's  rather  romantic 
and  interesting,  is  n't  it?  This  is  the  horrid  penalty  of 
being  nineteen." 

"Oh,  dear  me,  yes;  that  's  what  I  have  been  thinking 


182  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

all  the  afternoon.  I  wish  we  were  nine,  don 't  you  ? ' '  said 
Phyllis,  fervently. 

Jessamy  hesitated.  "There  is  something  rather  nice 
about  growing  up,  though,"  she  said  meditatively.  "To 
be  quite  honest,  Phyl,  I  think  it  would  be  pleasant  hav- 
ing lovers  and  admiration  and  all  that,  provided  we  did 
not  all  fancy  the  same  youth." 

' '  Have  you  been  tasting  that  pleasure,  Jessamy  Wynd- 
ham?"  demanded  Phyllis,  grown  sharp  in  the  experi- 
ence of  the  past  hours.  "Was  Mr.  Lane  quick  to  recog- 
nize our  princess's  charms?" 

"Don't  be  a  goose,  Phyllis;  he  was  very  polite,  of 
course,"  said  Jessamy.  "If  we  don't  take  care,  we  shall 
be  as  bad  as  the  girls  we  always  have  despised,  who  see 
a  possible  admirer  in  every  young  man  they  meet.  Go 
to  bed,  dearie,  and  go  to  sleep.  It  's  a  perfect  shame 
Bab 's  notions  have  to  shadow  your  blessed,  unselfish  little 
face— when  you  were  going  your  ways  so  unconsciously 
and  harmlessly,  too!  It  is  n't  her  fault,  but  I  really 
believe  I  should  enjoy  shaking  Babbie  a  little,  especially 
if  you  go  away." 

"Poor,  dear  little  Babbie!  You  don't  know  how  bit- 
terly she  was  crying  when  I  found  her,"  said  Phyllis, 
unrolling  herself  from  the  folds  of  her  wrapper.  "It 
certainly  is  n't  her  fault,  and  I  shall  be  happy  if  she  is. 
Come,  Truchi-ki;  bedtime,  and  past  it,  my  golden-eyed 
kitten !  No  mouselets  here,  so  there  's  no  use  watching ; 
they  know  too  much  to  come  where  kittens  watch.  It  's 
rather  nice  to  be  a  little  white  catkin,  and  purr  at  a 


LOYAL  PHYLLIS  183 

touch,  is  n't  it,  Jessamy?"  she  added,  as  she  swung 
Truce  to  her  shoulder,  where  he  immediately  cuddled 
down  to  purr.  "We  used  to  be  little  white,  purring 
things  too,  not  long  ago ;  it  is  such  a  pity  not  to  stay  so ! 
Until  the  trouble  came  we  never  knew  a  care;  and  now, 
just  when  we  are  getting  so  cozy,  the  baby  has  to  fall  in 
love!  Is  n't  it  horrid?  Good  night;  you  're  such  a 
comfort,  Amy-princess,  with  your  common  sense  and 
your  partial  judgments  of  me !  I  wonder  if  this  kitchen 
was  ever  the  refuge  of  any  other  girl  tenants  in  senti- 
mental troubles?" 

* '  Good  night,  loyal  Phyllis ;  I  can  never  love  you  nor 
thank  you  enough  for  Bab,  who  is  not  likely  to  realize 
fully  what  you  have  done.  I  'm  not  partial  to  you;  I 
can't  do  you  justice,  but  at  least  I  know  it,"  said  Jes- 
samy,  taking  Phyllis  and  the  kitten  into  a  comprehensive 
embrace  and  kissing  her  with  her  heart  on  her  lips. 

Tired  out  with  their  long  talk,  and  chilled  in  the  night 
air,  Jessamy  and  Phyllis  soon  fell  asleep,  and  forgot  the 
troubles  hanging  over  them  in  the  dreamless  rest  of  their 
years. 

Phyllis  wrote  her  letter  to  Mrs.  Dean,  and  posted  it 
without  a  word  to  any  one  save  Jessamy.  There  was  no 
use  in  getting  her  aunt 's  permission  to  go  to  Boston  until 
she  had  found  out  whether  the  opportunity  of  going 
were  still  open  to  her. 

It  was  difficult  to  wait  the  answer,  keep  the  secret,  and 
behave  in  the  old  way,  as  in  the  days  when  there  were 
no  secrets  and,  above  all,  no  consciousness  of  changes 


184  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

that  were  far  from  pleasant  in  what  Barbara  had  called 
"the  squareness  of  the  square."  But  though  it  was  not 
an  easy  task,  Jessamy  and  Phyllis  accomplished  it  fairly 
well,  and,  fortunately,  it  did  not  require  doing  long. 
Mrs.  Dean  replied  very  quickly  to  Phyllis 's  note,  with 
unmistakable  pleasure  bidding  her  welcome  at  the  ear- 
liest possible  time  she  could  set  out. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  could  not  be  brought  to  listen  to  the 
plan  when  it  was  first  broached  to  her;  there  was  not 
the  slightest  need,  she  said,  of  Phyllis 's  leaving  home; 
indeed  it  was  unwise  for  her  to  go  until  she  and  Jes- 
samy had  first  tested  their  hope  of  working  together  for 
the  magazines,  for  which  Jessamy  especially  seemed  sud- 
denly so  well  prepared.  But  Phyllis  begged  very  hard 
to  be  allowed  to  try  her  wings,  pleading  restlessness  and 
a  longing  to  see  more  of  the  world;  especially,  she  re- 
minded her  aunt,  because  no  one  could  hope  to  write  well 
who  lived  in  one  narrow  routine.  Jessamy  seconded  her 
plea,  and  said  they  should  work  together  quite  as  effec- 
tually with  Phyllis  in  Boston,  for  she  would  send  her 
stories  home  for  Jessamy  to  illustrate,  and  nothing  would 
be  lost  by  separation. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  was  a  little  hurt  at  first  by  Phyllis's 
insistence,  and  then  not  a  little  suspicious;  it  was  so 
improbable  that  a  restless  desire  to  roam  should  come 
suddenly  upon  home-loving  Phyllis  in  the  midst  of  her 
supreme  content  in  their  new  housekeeping.  Though  she 
did  not  suspect  that  Barbara  had  any  connection  with 
the  plan,  she  did  surmise  that  Phyllis  was  running  away 


LOYAL  PHYLLIS  185 

from  an  unwelcome  lover,  and  so  gave  her  consent  reluc- 
tantly at  last.  Bab  herself  took  the  news  with  dumb 
amazement  at  first,  then  evidently  with  an  irreconcilable 
mixture  of  emotions.  It  was  past  comprehending  that 
Phyllis  did  not  care  for  Tom,  and  yet  this  sudden  change 
of  spirit,  following  Ruth's  disclosure,  left  no  other  solu- 
tion. Bab  did  not  believe  that  any  one  suspected  what 
it  was  costing  her  to  think  that  even  Phyllis  was  first 
in  Tom's  esteem;  she  hoped  that  no  one  saw  that  Phyl- 
lis 's  going  away  was  a  relief  to  her,  and  she  hated  herself 
that  it  should  be  so. 

So  it  was  settled  that  Phyllis  was  to  go  out  into  the 
world  to  try  her  fortunes.  She  and  Jessamy  hunted  up 
Violet,  their  former  waitress,  and  discovered,  as  they  had 
expected,  that  for  the  sake  of  coming  back  to  the  Wynd- 
hams  she  would  gladly  undertake  to  do  "gen'l  house- 
woak,  dough  she  mos'  in  gen'lly  did  n't  cah  'bout  it." 

Getting  Violet  back  simplified  the  domestic  problem, 
and  there  were  no  more  obstacles  in  Phyllis 's  path  of 
duty,  except  its  general  thorniness,  and  this  she  tried  to 
keep  to  herself. 

Tom  had  been  in  and  out  as  usual  during  these  days 
when  Jessamy  and  Phyllis  were  plotting  against  him, 
but  of  course  was  not  told  of  Phyllis's  plans  till  they 
were  complete. 

Phyllis  was  in  the  park  late  one  afternoon,  when  all 
her  arrangements  had  been  settled,  and  even  the  day  of 
her  departure  fixed  upon  as  the  coming  Monday.  Only 
three  days  at  home  left  her,  she  was  thinking  sadly ;  but 


186  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

if  she  must  go,  delay  could  make  it  no  easier,  and,  as  she 
looked  up,  she  saw  Tom  coming  toward  her. 

It  was  difficult  to  talk  to  Tom  now,  with  her  guilty  con- 
sciousness of  so  many  complex  feelings  connected  with 
him,  but  Phyllis  managed  to  smile  with  almost  her  old 
frankness,  and  say  at  once:  "Oh,  Tom,  I  'm  glad  to  see 
you  and  tell  you  myself  my  great  news;  I  'm  going 
away. ' ' 

"Away!  Where?  For  how  long?"  asked  Tom,  his 
face  falling. 

"To  Boston,  and  'it  may  be  for  years  and  it  may  be 
forever.'  I  'm  going  to  be  independent,  and  live  a  little 
solitary  life  of  my  own,"  laughed  Phyllis,  with  affected 
gaiety. 

"Phyllis!"  exclaimed  Tom,  in  such  a  shocked,  grieved 
tone  that  Phyllis  hastily  rattled  on:  "It  may  be  spring 
fever,  but  I  think  it  will  last  longer  than  spring.  I  am 
not  going  to  be  tied  down  to  pots  and  pans  all  my  life. ' ' 

"That  does  not  sound  like  you,"  said  Tom.  "How 
do  you  think  the  others— how  do  you  think  I  shall  get  on 
without  you  ? ' ' 

"The  others  have  one  another;  you  have  them. 
Frankly,  Tom,  I  am  so  much  occupied  in  my  own  af- 
fairs I  can't  consider  any  one,"  said  Phyllis. 

""Why  do  you  want  to  misrepresent  yourself  so?"  de- 
manded Tom,  indignantly.  "I  have  known  you  long 
enough  to  know  what  a  good  friend  you  are,  and  how 
much  better — ' 

"I  am  not  a  very  good  friend;  Jessamy  and  Bab— Bab 


LOYAL  PHYLLIS  187 

especially— are  much  more  devoted  to  friends  than  I  am," 
said  Phyllis,  who  was  new  to  this  sort  of  thing,  and 
rather  overdid  trying  to  drive  Tom  from  her.  "I  hope 
that  is  n't  rude,  Tom,  when  you  've  been  so  good  to  me, 
but  you  've  the  truest  Wyndhams  left." 

"Are  you  going  to  write  me?"  asked  Tom,  swallowing 
as  well  as  he  could  this  awkward  implication  that,  after 
all,  Phyllis  had  very  little  interest  in  him. 

"You  won't  be  offended  if  I  don't,  will  you?  That  is, 
not  to  you  personally;  you  will  hear  the  letters  I  write 
home,  and  I  shall  want  messages  from  you,  but  I  mean 
to  work  very  hard,  and  there  are  three  people  at  home 
to  write— and  Ruth  and  Mrs.  Van  Alyn— and  I  must  do 
my  duty  by  Aunt  Henrietta,  I  suppose,  so  you  won't 
think  it  strange  if  I  satisfy  myself  with  messages  to  you. 
You  know  I  shall  think  of  you,"  added  Phyllis,  break- 
ing down  a  little  as  she  saw  Tom 's  hurt  and  puzzled  face ; 
it  was  rather  hard  to  put  him  so  far  below  all  these 
others. 

' '  I  cannot  think  anything  later  half  as  strange  as  this 
sudden  announcement  that  you  are  going  away,  and  your 
snubbing  me,"  said  Tom.  "I  have  no  right  to  com- 
plain of  what  you  choose  to  do,  but  it  is  not  easy  to 
understand  you,  Phyllis;  you  were  never  like  this  be- 
fore, and  I  hoped  you  knew  how  much  more  than  either 
of  the  other  girls— ' 

"I  am  not  snubbing  you,  Tom,"  said  Phyllis,  hastily. 
"I  should  be  sorry  to  lose  your  regard,  but  the  whole 
truth— that  is— you  see— why,  my  family  and  my  hopes 

12 


188  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

of  doing  something  good  in  work— that  's  all  I  care 
about.  Don 't  you  understand,  Tom  ? ' ' 

"I  think  I  do,"  said  poor  Tom,  rather  huskily.  "You 
are  n't  very  good  at  making  believe,  and  there  's  no  kind 
of  use  in  trying  to  make  me  think  less  well  of  you.  You 
don't  want  me  to  tell  you  how  I  feel  about  your  going 
away,  but  it  is  hard—"  He  stopped,  and  stooped  to 
pat  Nixie.  Tom  was  only  a  big  boy  after  all,  and  he  was 
dangerously  near  tears. 

"Dear  Tom,  you  make  me  feel  a  selfish  brute,  but  in- 
deed I  like  you,  and  I  wish  we  could  all  be  together  as 
before,  and  yet  that  I  could  do  what  I  want  to  do ;  but  as 
that  can't  be,  I  must  choose  what  I  care  most  for,  so 
don't  think  much  about  me,  since  I  am  having  my  own 
way,"  said  Phyllis,  holding  to  her  purpose,  though  her 
own  eyes  were  dim.  ' '  And  to  prove  how  much  I  trust  you, 
I  am  going  to  put  dear  Babbie  in  your  hands.  She  is  n  't 
quite  well  lately,  though  she  is  so  brave  and  tries  so  hard 
to  make  us  all  happy  that  she  does  n't  talk  about  herself. 
Won't  you  take  care  of  her  for  me,  study  her  as  a  doc- 
tor, and  cheer  her  up  as  a  friend?  Babbie  is  the  most 
loving,  faithful  soul  in  the  world;  I  am  afraid  she  will 
miss  me  dreadfully.  If  you  can  get  her  all  right  again, 
I  '11  be  your  friend  fast  enough;  you  '11  have  no  occa- 
sion to  complain  of  me. ' ' 

"I  '11  look  after  her,"  said  Tom,  "though  I  don't 
think  there  is  anything  wrong  with  her.  She  shall  not 
be  lonely  if  I  can  help  it.  By  Jove,  Phyllis,  I  wish  you 
were  n't  quite  so  wrapped  up  in  your  family!" 


LOYAL  PHYLLIS  189 

' '  But  I  am ;  in  comparison,  there  is  no  one  in  the  world 
for  me.  Here  we  are  at  home ;  are  you  not  coming  up  ? " 
said  Phyllis. 

"Not  to-night.  I  '11  be  in  to-morrow,"  said  Tom, 
wringing  the  hand  she  extended.  "Good  luck,  Phyllis, 
and  I  'm  just  as  much  your  friend,  if  you  don't  feel 
interested  in  me. ' ' 

And  Phyllis,  having  succeeded  in  her  efforts,  toiled 
painfully  up-stairs,  with  the  regret  of  her  success. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   SQUARE   BECOMES   A  TRIANGLE 

;RS.  WYNDHAM,  Jessamy,  and  Bar- 
bara, with  Tom  as  escort,  returned 
heavy-heartedly  from  the  Warren 
Street  pier,  where  they  had  been  see- 
ing off  Phyllis  at  the  beginning  of  her 
first  venture  into  the  world.  The  big 
Puritan,  with  her  colors  flying  and  her  band  playing, 
steamed  out  into  the  river  looking  b'right  and  festive,  but 
to  those  from  whom  she  was  bearing  one  fourth  of 
themselves  she  seemed  a  kind  of  monster. 

Violet  opened  the  door  to  them  when  they  reached 
home,  and  Truce  arched  his  back  into  a  furry  croquet- 
wicket  in  his  pleasure  on  seeing  them  once  more ;  but  Jes- 
samy's  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes  again,  remembering  that 
the  kitten's  dear  mistress  was  sailing  away;  if  Phyllis 
had  gone  to  Darkest  Africa,  it  could  hardly  have  been 
more  dismally  tragic  than  the  short  journey  to  Boston 
seemed  to  the  two  girls  who  loved  her. 

"We  are  a  square  no  more,"  said  Bab,  drearily,  as 
they  seated  themselves  at  the  dinner-table. 

"Still  we  are  four,"  suggested  Mrs.  Wyndham,  with 

190 


THE  SQUARE  BECOMES  A  TRIANGLE  191 

a  kindly  smile  for  Tom,  toward  whom  Barbara's  man- 
ner was  distinctly  forbidding. 

"Oh,  I  can't  take  Phyllis 's  place,"  said  Tom,  cheer- 
ily; "but  I  should  say  you  were  still  as  square  as  ever, 
since  she  is  bound  to  be  here,  no  matter  where  else  she 
is.  That  sounds  slightly  occult,"  he  added,  laughing. 
"  What  I  mean  is—  " 

"You  mean  her  heart  's  in  the  Highlands  wherever 
she  roams,"  said  Barbara.  "But  that  is  worse  for  us 
all;  it  makes  her  homesick,  and  we  miss  her  just  the 
same.  No,  we  are  no  longer  a  square ;  we  are  a  triangle, 
and  I  feel  as  though  we  were  not  even  a  triangle  stand- 
ing on  one  of  its  sides— or  whatever  you  call  them— but 
a  triangle  standing  up  on  one  of  its  points,  and  very 
wobbly." 

"We  will  hope  it  will  not  be  long  before  we  are 
squared  again,"  said  her  mother.  "We  must  not  take 
Phyllis 's  flight  too  seriously;  we  are  so  unused  to  sepa- 
rations we  cannot  realize  how  trifling  this  little  trip 
would  be  to  less  spoiled  people.  We  shall  have  a  tele- 
gram in  the  morning  and  such  nice  letters  every  day 
from  our  dear  little  girl  that  perhaps  we  shall  never  be 
willing  to  let  her  come  home  again. ' ' 

"I  don't  believe  Horace  Walpole  and  Madame  Se- 
vigne,  melted  down  and  poured  out  on  the  tip  of  Phyl's 
pen,  could  bring  us  to  that  state  of  mind, ' '  said  Jessamy, 
giving  Truce  an  extra  fine  bit  of  lamb  for  his  mistress's 
sake. 

The  telegram  announcing  Phyllis 's  safe  arrival  came 


192  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

before  luncheon  the  next  morning,  and  the  following  day 
brought  her  first  letter. 

"Dearest  Auntie,  Girls,  and  Truchi-ki,"  it  began: 
"Behold  me  of  an  arrival— you  see,  I  am  inclined  to 
French  forms.  I  had  the  nicest  kind  of  a  journey— so 
nice  that  I  should  be  delighted  to  repeat  it  to-night— 
with  the  steamer's  bow  headed  the  other  way !" 

"Dear  old  Phyl;  telegraph  her  to  do  it!"  cried  Bar- 
bara. 

"But  I  am  here  to  stay,  and  not  so  homesick  as  you 
might  think  I  would  be.  Mrs.  Dean  is  a  dear,  and  Bos- 
ton reserve  may  be  as  icy  as  the  comic  newspapers  say, 
but  when  it  makes  up  its  mind  to  thaw  it  really  is  as 
warming  as  port  wine,  with  much  of  the  same  rich,  dig- 
nified quality.  Mrs.  Dean  treats  me  with  what  I  should 
call  respectful  affection,  and  that  is  the  kind  of  treat- 
ment that  makes  a  snip  of  a  girl,  away  from  home  for 
the  first  time,  feel  self-reliant;  it  puts  her  on  her  mettle 
to  be  as  womanly,  contented,  and  generally  pretty-be- 
haved as  she  is  expected  to  be.  Mrs.  Dean  evidently  in- 
tends to  watch  over  me,  and  make  me  happy  if  she  can, 
and  the  least  I  can  do  under  such  goodness  is  to  be  happy. 
She  is  going  to  save  my  self-respect  by  letting  me  feel 
she  did  not  take  me  for  charity,  but  that  she  really 
wanted  me  for  service.  My  duties  are  to  read  to  her, 
attend  to  her  correspondence,  and  bear  her  company 
from  her  breakfast,  at  half-past  eight,  till  luncheon,  at 
one.  After  luncheon  she  drives  for  an  hour,  when  I 
accompany  her,  after  which  drive  she  lies  down,  and 


THE  SQUAEE  BECOMES  A  TRIANGLE  193 

I  am  free  till  the  seven  o'clock  dinner.  In  the  evening 
I  sit  with  her,  reading  or  playing  backgammon  or  crib- 
bage,  until  nine,  except  those  evenings  when  her  nephews 
and  nieces  call,  or,  as  she  says  with  a  significant  twinkle, 
when  she  feels  minded  to  go  to  a  concert  or  play,  as  she 
will  sometimes,  now  that  she  has  a  youthful  companion 
to  enjoy  frivolity  as  much  as  she  does. 

"She  is  interested  in  my  account  of  my  little  hopes, 
and  says  I  must  continue  writing  while  with  her,  and 
she  will  see  to  it  that  I  have  time  to  do  so  for  hours 
in  the  splendid  great  library.  Oh,  dear  folkses,  do  you 
suppose  our  library  at  Fortieth  Street  will  be  as  glo- 
rious as  this  beautiful  Greek  temple  here?  Of  course, 
I  maintain  to  Mrs.  Dean  that  it  is  to  be  surpassed  by 
the  New  York  library  when  it  is  done,  but  in  my  heart 
of  hearts  I  wonder  if  ours  can  equal  the  Boston  one. 

"I  have  not  seen  much  more  of  the  city  than  the 
library ;  not  that  from  the  inside.  The  coachman  brought 
me  through  Copley  Square  this  morning  when  I  arrived, 
and  this  afternoon  I  went  down  among  the  shops  with 
Mrs.  Dean.  The  shops  look  rather  serious  after  our  beau- 
ties; indeed,  though  Boston  is  handsomer  than  New 
York— that  is,  Commonwealth  Avenue  and  around  it, 
where  Mrs.  Dean  lives,  is  fine — it  is  not  cheerful  and 
bright  like  our  own  queer,  big  jumble  of  a  city,  but 
looks  as  though  it  wore  gray,  and  wore  it  on  principle. 
We  went  down  in  the  subway,  and  I  felt  dreadfully  mor- 
tified not  to  have  a  hand-bag.  Every  woman,  young  and 
old,  except  myself,  carried  a  little  cloth  bag,  most  of 


194  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

them  shaped  like  school  satchels  held  together  by  their 
leather  handles.  I  felt  as  though  I  were  out  without 
some  necessary  article  of  clothing,  not  a  hat  or  anything 
that  might  ever  be  superfluous,  but  something  as  dread- 
ful to  want  as  the  waist  of  my  dress,  for  instance.  I  cer- 
tainly must  get  a  bag,  if  I  want  to  be  respectable — I 
wonder  if  Boston  policemen  arrest  girls  who  go  out  with- 
out bags,  if  they  are  alone  ?  Mrs.  Dean  had  one,  so  that 
may  have  saved  me.  Dearest,  darlingest  family,  I  hope 
you  miss  me — not  too  much,  but  a  little.  And  I  hope 
Violet  will  keep  the  kitchen  and  all  my  dear  tins  in  apple- 
pie  order ;  tell  her  I  said  so.  And  don 't  let  Trucie  miss 
me,  yet  don't  let  him  forget  me.  And  I  am  glad  I  came 
away,  yet  I  would  give  anything  to  drop  down  among 
you  as  I  shall  drop  this  letter  into  the  box.  Altogether, 
I  am  a  bundle  of  contradictions,  you  see ;  but  I  am  doing 
as  well  as  one  could  expect  me  to,  and  am  going  to  be 
busy  and  contented.  Write  me,  one  of  you,  every  day; 
for  I  love  you  more  than  you  know,  and  it  is  a  wee  bit 
hard  to  be  a  wandering,  prodigal  daughter.  Especially 
to  such  a  home  body  as  your  spoiled,  but  loving  Phyllis. ' ' 

''She  is  homesick,  but  she  does  n't  mean  to  let  herself 
find  it  out, ' '  said  Jessamy. 

"Dear  little  Phyllis !  It  won't  hurt  her  to  test  herself 
under  new  conditions,  but  I  hope  she  will  feel  that  she 
can  come  back  to  us  soon, ' '  said  Mrs.  Wyndham.  ' '  Now, 
your  note,  Jessamy?  From  Mrs.  Van  Alyn,  is  n't  it?" 

"I  think  so,"  said  Jessamy,  examining  the  envelop, 
with  that  peculiar  carefulness  every  one  bestows  on  the 


THE  SQUARE  BECOMES  A  TRIANGLE  195 

outside  of  a  letter,  instead  of  opening  it  and  looking  at 
the  signature.  "Yes,  it  is,  and  she  wants  Bab  and  me 
to  plunge  into  society;  just  listen!"  she  added,  when  she 
finally  had  opened  the  note  and  glanced  at  its  contents. 


DEAR  JESSAMY:  We  are  going  to  have  an  enter- 
tainment, in  aid  of  the  Baby's  Hospital,  that  promises 
to  be  quite  charming.  It  is  to  be  a  Masque  of  Shak- 
spere.  The  Mr.  Lane  whom  you  met  at  my  house  has 
written  or  constructed  for  us  a  Masque  on  the  lines  of 
those  used  in  the  Elizabethan  period,  in  which  many  of 
Shakspere's  characters,  culled  from  all  the  plays,  are 
introduced.  He  has  used  the  Shaksperian  text  as  far 
as  possible,  connecting  it  with  original  matter  to  bring 
out  the  very  simple  plot—  it  is  practically  but  a  meeting 
between  all  the  dear  characters  whom  we  know,  but 
who  have  hitherto  never  known  one  another.  I  beg  you 
to  help  in  this  merrymaking,  you  and  Barbara,  and  im- 
plore your  mother  to  allow  you  to  do  so.  First  of  all, 
I  need  you;  secondly,  you  have  been  too  long  re- 
cluses from  your  old  acquaintances,  from  whom  mere 
change  of  circumstances  should  not  wholly  debar  you. 
Jessamy  is  to  be  Miranda,  for  good  and  sufficient  rea- 
sons, and  Babbie  will  be,  if  she  will,  Beatrice.  She 
is  not  quite  large  enough  to  realize  exactly  one's  con- 
ception of  "dear  Lady  Disdain,"  but  she  is  ad- 
mirably adapted  for  her  otherwise,  having  by  nature 
much  of  that  young  woman's  ready  wit  and  her  loving 
heart,  imperfectly  concealed  by  the  saucy  tongue.  I 


196  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

have  asked  your  Doctor  Tom  to  be  Benedick— an  added 
reason  for  our  Beatrice  to  be  a  success,  if  my  observa- 
tions the  last  few  times  that  I  have  seen  Bab  with 
him  and  marked  her  snubbing  of  him  are  correct.  It 
will  be  a  delightful  frolic,  for  we  all  love  play-acting, 
and  it  will  be  a  remarkably  pretty  affair  if  it  goes  well. 
So  don't  refuse  me,  dear  Jessamy  and  Barbara,  and  tell 
your  mother  I  say  that  it  is  as  wrong  to  hide  her  daugh- 
ters in  a  Harlem  flat  as  to  hide  her  light  under  a  bushel. 
Say  yes  at  once,  and  oblige  your  friend,  MARY  VAN 
ALYN.  ' 

"It  sounds  beautiful,  does  n't  it,  mama?"  said  Jes- 
samy. "Do  you  think  it  would  be  wise  for  us  to  begin 
to  nibble  at  forbidden  fruit?  You  know  we  can't  afford 
the  time  nor  money  to  be  gay  very  often." 

Barbara's  cheeks  had  been  rosy  red  since  Jessamy  had 
read  the  allusion  to  Tom,  which  showed  that  her  desire 
to  treat  him  indifferently  had  overshot  the  mark.  "It 
might  be  rather  stupid,"  she  said.  "We  don't  know 
who  will  be  with  us." 

' '  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  will  not  ask  any  but  acceptable  young 
people,  and  it  seems  to  me  we  can  hardly  refuse  any- 
thing she  suggests  for  you, "  said  Mrs.  Wyndham.  ' '  She 
has  been  your  best  friend  all  your  lives— heavenly  kind 
since  the  trouble  came.  You  will  enjoy  it,  and  she  is 
right  to  draw  you  into  something  bright  and  youthful. 
I  certainly  consent,  and  urge  you  to  take  part  in  the 
masque.  Write  your  acceptance  before  you  go  out." 


THE  SQUARE  BECOMES  A  TRIANGLE  197 

"I  'm  only  too  delighted,  if  you  think  it  won't  upset 
us,  mama,"  said  Jessamy,  with  a  beaming  face,  as  she 
opened  her  desk.  "I  should  love  to  try  to  act  a  little, 
and  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  has  given  us  the  dearest  parts !  Bab 
will  be  a  splendid  Beatrice,  though  she  is  small. ' ' 

The  note  of  acceptance  was  despatched,  and  from  that 
moment  the  little  home  was  a  whirl  of  excitement.  For- 
tunately, Violet  had  the  talent  of  her  race  for  cooking, 
else  the  Wyndham  family  might  have  died  of  starvation, 
for  neither  Jessamy  nor  Barbara  could  get  her  mind 
down  to  practical  things. 

Rehearsals  began  at  once.  The  masque  proved  to  be 
very  clever  and  pretty,  the  plot  a  dream,  in  which  most 
of  the  best-beloved  people  in  Shakspere's  plays  met, 
talked,  told  the  story  of  their  lives  subsequent  to  the 
ending  of  the  play  in  wrhich  they  had  moved,  straight- 
ened out  tangles,  showed  that  sorrowful  events  were  all 
a  mistake  and  had  never  happened,  and  ended  at  the  last 
in  a  beautiful  old  English  dance,  which  faded  away  into 
a  background  of  shadow-,  in  which  finally  all  were  lost  to 
sight  and  were  understood  to  have  gone  back  into  the 
1623  folio  whence  they  had  emerged. 

The  return  of  Jessamy  and  Barbara  to  the  set  which 
had  been  theirs  was  hailed  by  most  of  their  friends  with 
pleasure.  Many  of  them  had  called  on  the  Wyndhams 
when  misfortune  first  befell  them,  but  finding  them 
boarding,  with  no  satisfactory  place  in  which  to  receive 
their  friends,  and  meeting  them  no  more  in  the  houses 
and  places  of  amusement  they  frequented,  had  ceased 


198  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

making  efforts  to  hunt  them  up.  Many  of  the  girls 
came  out  during  the  winter  spent  by  the  Wynd- 
hams  at  the  ''Blackboard,"  and  the  life  of  a  debutante 
leaves  little  time  for  extra  pursuits,  even  the  pursuit  of 
former  acquaintances,  so  the  Wyndhams  had  been  suf- 
fered to-  drop  out  of  mind  rather  through  indifference 
and  pressure  of  interests  than  from  unkindness. 

One  girl  there  was — Grace  Hammond — who  hailed  their 
reappearance  with  anything  but  rapture.  Grace  Ham- 
mond's father  was  an  old  friend  of  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  and 
of  her  brothers,  who  had  made  the  fatal  mistake  of  mar- 
rying an  entirely  worldly  woman,  with  a  thoroughly  vul- 
gar love  of  mere  wealth,  and  Grace,  unfortunately,  had 
inherited  her  mother's  nature,  not  her  father's— a  na- 
ture carefully  fostered  by  that  mother's  training.  Mr. 
Hammond's  fortune  had  been  swallowed  up  in  a  Wall 
Street  venture;  he  had  not  been  able  to  get  beyond  a 
sufficient  income  in  his  efforts  to  make  another,  efforts 
seriously  hampered  by  his  wife's  extravagance.  It  was 
the  intention  of  both  Grace  and  her  mother  that  Mrs. 
Van  Alyn's  beautiful  house,  wealth,  social  standing,  and 
exquisite  breeding  should  be  Grace's  backing  in  her  pres- 
entation to  the  world,  counting  on  the  claim  of  old 
friendship  for  Grace's  father.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, the  advent  of  the  Wyndhams  was  especially  pro- 
voking, the  more  so  that  Grace  could  not  compete  with 
Barbara  for  prettiness,  wit,  and  charm,  while  Jessamy 
was  an  avowed  beauty. 

It  would  not  do  to  betray  the  envy  and  bitterness  she 


THE  SQUARE  BECOMES  A  TRIANGLE  199 

felt,  so  Grace  did  what  people  of  her  type  generally  do — 
smiled  sweetly  in  public  and  bided  her  time  to  oust  or 
mortify  those  whom  she  chose  to  consider  her  rivals. 

Jessamy  and  Barbara  were  not  long  in  discovering  that 
Grace  hated  them,  but  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  was  blissfully 
unconscious  that  one  of  the  young  people  she  loved  to 
have  about  her  was  consumed  with  jealous  spiteful- 
ness. 

The  great  night  came  at  last ;  it  was  the  middle  of  May, 
and  warm.  Mrs.  Van  Alyn's  long  parlors,  where  first 
the  play  was  to  have  been  given,  were  found  inadequate 
to  the  guests  who  applied  for  tickets,  and  a  small  thea- 
ter, closed  for  the  season,  had  been  secured  without  cost, 
as  the  masque  was  given  for  charity;  only  the  lighting 
and  similar  expenses  were  incurred  in  its  use.  The  pros- 
pect of  appearing,  as  Bab  said,  "  really  on  the  boards, 
and  not  on  carpet  politely  called  the  boards,"  was  tre- 
mendously exciting.  It  seemed  to  change  the  whole  af- 
fair, solemnizing  it  into  something  little  short  of  profes- 
sional. All  the  actors  had  to  have  hasty  training  in 
speaking  and  walking  on  a  real  stage,  given  at  the  last 
moment  by  a  real  actor  and  actress,  who  had  taken  up 
the  masque  with  enthusiasm,  and  had  done  all  in  their 
power  to  perfect  the  young  Shaksperians. 

Jessamy  and  Barbara  were  wild  with  excitement.  If 
it  had  not  been  for  their  mother,  Phyllis 's  home  bulle- 
tins would  have  been  meager  and  delirious  during  these 
thrilling  weeks,  but  Mrs.  Wyndham  kept  "the  stray  unit 
of  their  four  times  one  are  four,"  as  she  called  Phyllis, 


200  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

informed  of  the  progress  of  the  housekeeping  and  the 
revels. 

Jessaray  and  Barbara  set  out  dinnerless  on  the  night 
of  their  " first  appearance  on  any  stage,"  as  Jessamy 
reminded  her  mother  it  was,  appetite  lost  in  excitement. 

She  and  Bab  shared  their  dressing-room— what  a  deli- 
cious feeling  of  importance  it  gave  them  to  know  it  was 
a  dressing-room  used  by  a  real  actress  during  the  season ! 

Jessamy 's  Miranda  costume  was  most  beautiful;  per- 
haps none  of  the  others  quite  equaled  it  in  poetic  beauty, 
though  most  of  the  other  costumes  were  more  splen- 
did. It  was  sea-green  and  white,  hung  with  pearls 
and  shells  and  narrow  ribbon  made  to  represent  sea- 
weed. A  gauzy  veil,  white  and  filmy  as  sea-foam,  floated 
from  her  beautiful  hair,  which  hung,  half  loose,  half 
confined  with  pearls,  about  her  shoulders.  Little  Bar- 
bara looked  her  best  in  white  and  gold,  with  devices  for 
increasing  her  height,  and  her  hair  piled  high  on  her 
saucy  head,  held  tilted  scornfully  as  became  both  her 
actual  self  and  Beatrice. 

Grace  Hammond  was  Viola,  not  in  doublets,  but  in  a 
short  skirt,  with  sword  at  side  and  a  rakish  cap  set  boy- 
ishly on  her  dark  hair.  Ophelia— come  to  life,  as  the 
lines  explained,  for  she  had  not  been  drowned,  but 
had  revived  when  they  laid  her  in  the  grave — and  Juliet 
and  Desdemona,  both  happily  resuscitated  after  the  cur- 
tain had  fallen  on  the  play,  and  now  come  forth  to  prove 
it  to  those  who  loved  and  mourned  them,  Hermione, 
Rosalind,  Cordelia,  Portia,  Katherine  the  Shrew,  and 


THE  SQUARE  BECOMES  A  TRIANGLE  201 

Katherine  the  Queen,  Queen  Constance,  Titania,  Hero, 
and  a  few  of  the  lesser  known  of  Shakspere's  lovable 
women,  shyly  opened  their  dressing-room  doors  one  by 
one,  and  went  to  the  wings  to  join  Ferdinand,  Benedick, 
Romeo,  Bassanio,  Othello,  Hamlet,  Laertes,  Orlando,  and 
all  the  other  gallants  in  velvets,  satins,  laces,  and  rib- 
bons, with  Malvolio,  gartered  and  bedizened,  to  lead  the 
opening  march. 

The  masque  was  but  half  an  hour  late  in  beginning, 
a  wonderful  feat  of  promptness  for  an  amateur  char- 
itable entertainment.  The  curtain  rose  upon  the  pretty 
setting  and  a  picturesque  grouping  of  all  the  charac- 
ters, which,  immediately  after  the  applause  greeting  it 
had  begun  to  die  away,  broke  up  into  a  march  to  display 
the  individual  beauty  concealed  in  the  whole. 

Then  the  masque  proper  began.  There  was,  natu- 
rally, considerable  difference  in  the  talents  of  the  actors, 
but  their  training  had  been  good,  and  none  was  conspicu- 
ously bad.  Grace  Hammond  acted  with  real  ability,  al- 
though she  did  not  understand  the  character  of  Viola, 
construing  her  by  her  boyish  costume  rather  after  the 
spirit  of  Katherine.  Jessamy  's  Miranda  was  the  admira- 
tion of  all  beholders— sweet,  innocent,  alluring— all  that 
a  sea  princess  should  be— while  Bab  charmed  the  most 
fastidious  with  her  Beatrice,  burred  like  a  chestnut  exte- 
riorly, but  womanly  sweet  and  true  of  heart  within. 

Murmurs  from  the  wings,  plaudits  from  the  audience, 
showed  Grace  that  the  Wyndhams,  and  more  especially 
Barbara,  whom  she  disliked  more  than  Jessamy,  were 


202  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

carrying  off  the  honors  of  the  evening,  and  her  petty 
soul  was  filled  with  rage  and  bitterness. 

There  came  a  moment  when  Barbara  had  her  most 
effective  bit  of  acting.  It  was  Ophelia's  entrance,  and 
Beatrice  was  to  rush  to  her  with  a  glad  cry  at  see- 
ing her  return  from  the  grave.  Grace,  as  Viola,  stood 
directly  in  the  center.  Barbara,  from  the  left  of  the 
stage,  saw  Ophelia  crossing  from  the  right,  and  sprang 
forward.  Grace  made  a  motion  as  if  to  free  herself  from 
something  interfering  with  her  skirt,  short  though  it 
was,  and  stepped  slightly  forward,  as  she  did  so  contriv- 
ing to  extend  the  point  of  her  sword  toward  the  swift 
feet  of  Beatrice.  Barbara  did  not  see — indeed,  there 
was  no  time  to  see— the  malicious  act.  She  bounded 
forward,  and  fell  headlong,  face  downward,  on  the  stage. 
Mr.  Lane,  in  the  wings,  directing  and  watching  his  play 
with  all  the  nervousness  of  a  young  author,  said  some- 
thing vigorous  and  excusable  under  the  circumstances, 
turning  whiter  than  he  was  before  at  the  sight  of  the 
accident. 

' '  The  miserable  girl ! "  he  muttered.  ' '  She  has  spoiled 
the  play!" 

Tom,  as  Benedick,  was  not  far  off;  standing  near 
Grace,  he  saw  plainly  the  entire  action.  With  great 
presence  of  mind,  he  leaped  to  Barbara's  assistance. 
Stooping,  he  raised  her,  helped  her  free  her  feet  from 
her  entangling  skirt,  and  whispered:  "Are  you  hurt, 
Bab?  For  goodness  sake,  pull  yourself  together  and 
go  on!" 


THE  SQUARE  BECOMES  A  TRIANGLE  203 

Barbara  was  shaken  by  the  force  of  her  fall,  and  mor- 
tified almost  beyond  bearing.  Tom's  voice  steadied  her 
a  little,  and  she  managed  to  whisper:  "Not  seriously, 
Tom;  but  what  shall  I  do?" 

"Don't  let  that  beast  of  a  girl  down  you,"  he  whis- 
pered back.  "Say  something  in  reply  to  me."  Then, 
aloud,  he  said,  laughing:  "  'T  is  the  first  time,  dear 
Lady  Disdain,  I  have  caught  you  tripping.  That  I 
should  live  to  see  the  day  that  proud  Beatrice  throws 
herself  at  my  feet!  But,  faith,  dear  lady,  I  have  long 
guessed  you  liked  me  well." 

Barbara  tossed  her  head  in  approved  Beatrician  fash- 
ion. "  'T  is  my  feet,  and  not  my  head,  hath  tripped, 
good  my  lord.  'T  was  joy  at  sight  of  sweet  Ophelia 
there  somewhat  overcame  me,  and  at  her  feet,  not  yours, 
I  lie  prostrate.  Ophelia,  Ophelia,  and  are  you  really 
among  the  living?"  And  from  this  point  the  dialogue 
continued  as  in  the  manuscript. 

There  were  many  among  the  audience  who  understood 
what  had  happened,  and  the  rest  guessed;  everybody 
recognized  and  admired  the  pluck  that  carried  Barbara 
through  a  humiliating  situation.  The  entire  house  rose 
and  shouted,  and  from  the  wings  came  applause  no  less 
hearty.  Mr.  Lane  was  beside  himself  with  delight. 
"Such  a  girl!"  he  cried  rapturously  to  the  world  in 
general.  "I  never  saw  such  grit!  And  she  saved  my 
play— she  and  Leighton,  bless  'em !  Her  voice  was  shak- 
ing when  she  spoke,  yet  she  got  herself  in  hand  and 
went  on!  I  tell  you,  I  never  saw  such  grit." 

IS 


204  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

At  the  end  of  the  play,  Barbara  and  Tom  had  to 
reply  to  a  separate  recall,  an  honor  that  made  Grace  set 
her  teeth  hard.  Her  spite  had  turned  against  herself; 
she  was  furious,  humiliated,  for  many  knew  that  she  had 
acted  as  she  had  done  purposely,  and  she  felt  sure  that 
her  chance  of  Mrs.  Van  Alyn's  favor  had  gone  forever. 

A  little  supper  served  later  to  the  actors  at  Mrs.  Van 
Alyn's  gave  Bab  her  opportunity  for  revenge,  and  per- 
haps won  for  her  more  than  the  plaudits  of  the  evening, 
delightful  though  they  had  been.  In  a  few  moments' 
talk  snatched  with  Jessamy,  she  had  decided  that  it 
would  be  both  kind  and  finer  to  shelter  Grace  from  the 
consequences  of  her  own  meanness.  Not  one  of  the  ac- 
tors but  stood  aloof  from  the  girl  after  the  fatal  moment 
when  she  had  thrust  out  her  sword  to  trip  Barbara  and 
had  upset  her  own  reputation.  At  the  supper,  looking 
at  Grace's  crimson,  sullen  face,  Barbara  began  actually 
to  pity  her,  fortified  in  Christian  sentiments  by  the  pet- 
ting she  herself  was  receiving  on  all  hands,  and  the  way 
Grace  was  shunned. 

As  they  rose  from  the  table,  Bab  slipped  around  to 
Grace's  chair.  "I  'm  sorry  you  hate  me,  Grace,"  she 
said.  "I  think  I  never  harmed  you;  but  if  we  are  not 
friends,  at  least  on  the  surface,  all  these  people  will 
imagine  you  put  out  that  sword  purposely,  and  you 
will  be  dropped  by  every  one  you  care  to  know.  Be 
friends  with  me,  Grace;  I  will  help  you,  and  you  will 
be  glad  later  that  the  little  slip  of  temper  was  cov- 
ered up." 


THE  SQUAEE  BECOMES  A  TRIANGLE  205 

Grace  looked  up,  and  Grace  looked  down.  It  had  not 
seemed  possible  that  she  could  be  redder  than  before, 
but  a  fresh  wave  of  color  spread  to  her  hair,  then  re- 
ceded, leaving  her  deadly  white.  Something  good  there 
was  in  the  girl,  and  Barbara  had  touched  it.  She  turned 
and  kissed  Bab,  then  burst  out  crying  before  them  all. 
"Barbara  Wyndham  is  a  saint  and  a  trump,"  she  sobbed. 
"I  was  jealous  of  her— 

' '  There,  never  mind, ' '  interrupted  Bab,  this  time  with 
no  need  of  effort  in  her  kindness,  for  her  warm  little 
heart  was  melted.  "Grace  and  I  are  friends,  so  if  I  am 
satisfied,  surely  no  one  else  need  ask  what  happened,  nor 
imagine  she  meant  to  harm  me.  You  are  all  her  friends 
too,  are  n't  you;  and  we  all  think  she  was  a  great  Viola, 
don't  we?" 

"Splendid!  Fine!  Lovely!"  murmured  the  guests, 
and  Barbara  kissed  Grace  before  them  all. 

Tom  took  Barbara  home  that  night,  while  Mr.  Lane 
was  the  escort  of  the  Miranda,  whom  he  seemed  to  think 
embodied  the  charms  of  land  and  sea  sprites.  The  girls 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  walk  a  little  way  toward  home, 
longing  for  fresh  air  after  the  exciting  evening,  and  Mrs. 
Van  Alyn  made  an  exception  for  once  to  her  rule  of 
allowing  no  young  guest  to  leave  her  house  late  except  in 
her  carriage. 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  I  respect  and  admire  you  to- 
night, Bab,"  said  Tom,  earnestly,  as  he  shook  her  hot 
little  hand  in  parting.  ' '  You  are  a  first-rate  actress,  but 
you  're  more— a  first-rate  lady." 


206  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"Don't  praise  me,  Tom,"  said  Bab,  gently;  she  seemed 
to  have  played  out  her  role  of  ' '  dear  Lady  Disdain ' '  for 
the  time.  "It  was  less  goodness  than  a  desire  to  be 
ab'ove  all  such  meanness,  I  am  afraid.  I  'm  rather  proud, 
Tom,  and  that  is  not  creditable. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XIII 


THE   STRAY  UNIT 

HILE  Jessamy  and  Barbara  were  tast- 
ing the  joys  of  glory  and  the  applause 
of  the  public,— at  least,  a  little  section 
of  it,— the  "Stray  Unit,"  as  her  aunt 
called  her,  was  having  rather  a  harder 
time  than  even  her  family  suspected. 
It  was  not  easy  to  continue  in  exile,  fighting  home- 
sickness and  longing  for  all  she  loved,  and  know  all 
the  while  that  she  had  but  so  to  determine  to  return 
into  the  little  flat,  which  looked  to  her  from  that  dis- 
tance not  only  like  the  Canaan  they  had  jestingly  called 
it,  but  like  Eden  itself.  Perhaps,  however,  the  know- 
ledge that  she  was  free  to  turn  back  from  what  she  had 
undertaken  helped  Phyllis  stand  to  her  guns;  it  was 
not  only  cowardly  but  ignoble  to  relinquish  a  task  set 
her  by  her  own  generosity  alone. 

Phyllis  was  so  fully  occupied  all  day  that  there  was 
no  time  for  moping;  but  at  night,  when  the  door  to  her 
room  was  closed  and  locked,  the  loneliness  became  al- 
most unbearable,  and  the  time  when  Tom's  misguided 

207 


208  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

fancy  should  veer  straight  and  allow  her  to  return  looked 
dubiously  uncertain  and  far  off.  But  Phyllis  had  the 
gift  of  sleep  common  to  healthy  youth,  and  though  her 
pillow  was  often  wet,  she  slept  sweetly  on  it,  and  arose 
refreshed  to  meet  the  new  day. 

Mrs.  Dean  was  as  kind  as  Phyllis 's  first  letter  reported 
her,  but  she  was  an  old  lady  of  many  interests,  and 
after  her  little  companion  was  fairly  installed  in  her 
household  she  gradually  ceased  to  feel  responsible  for 
her  entertainment.  This  was  rather  a  matter  for  con- 
gratulation, for  Phyllis  was  fired  with  ambition  to 
accomplish  something  worth  the  doing  while  she  was 
away,  and  welcomed  the  afternoons,  which  included  two 
or  three  hours  in  that  glorious  library  which  was  to  her 
the  center  and  crown  of  the  city.  Nothing  less  than  an 
historical  story,  dealing  with  New  York  in  the  Dutch 
days,  was  the  work  the  would-be  young  author  aimed 
to  produce,  and  she  devoured  everything  relating  to  her 
subject  which  the  obliging  assistants  in  the  library  could 
furnish.  The  story,  which  never  saw  the  light  of  day, 
served  its  end  in  helping  Phyllis  through  her  exile,  and 
incidentally  in  teaching  her  much  that  she  had  not 
known  of  her  own  city,  for  whose  noise  and  cheery  bus- 
tle she  hungered. 

One  afternoon,  when  Mrs.  Dean  omitted  her  usual 
after-luncheon  drive  in  favor  of  the  board  meeting  of 
a  society  of  which  she  was  president,  Phyllis  slipped 
away  early  to  the  classic  hall,  where  she  had  an  appoint- 
ment with  Peter  Stuyvesant  and  her  beloved  Dutch 


THE  STRAY  UNIT  209 

burghers.  The  first  two  volumes  of  the  "Memorial  His- 
tory of  New  York"  were  brought  for  her  use,  and  she 
seated  herself  to  search  for  material,  happy  for  the  time 
in  that  delightful  feeling  of  importance  born  of  the  con- 
sciousness of  great  plans  and  the  business-like  prepara- 
tions for  their  fulfilment. 

After  nearly  an  hour  of  reading,  she  decided  that 
the  "Memorial  History"  was  not  what  she  needed  just 
then,  but  the  "Documentary  History  of  New  York 
State,"  and  she  started  to  her  feet  to  get  it.  Phyllis  at 
home  and  about  domestic  things  was  one  person,  and 
Phyllis  among  books  was  another.  The  latter  Phyllis 
was  a  young  person  of  the  greatest  impetuosity,  acting 
first,  and  thinking  fully  five  minutes  afterward.  It  was 
this  Phyllis  who  gathered  up  her  two  large  volumes  and 
started  toward  the  desk  to  exchange  them,  without  wait- 
ing for  an  attendant,  in  the  greatest  possible  hurry,  as 
if  the  slow  old  Dutch  of  two  centuries  ago  were  likely  to 
race  off  before  she  could  capture  the  volumes  in  which 
they  were  reposing. 

The  result  of  her  haste  was  that  she  did  not  see  a 
young  man  approaching  from  the  opposite  direction  as 
slowly  as  she  was  hurrying  forward.  His  nose  was 
buried  in  a  volume  that  looked  like  Browning,  and  he 
did  not  see  the  slender  girl  in  gray,  laden  with  her  heavy 
books,  bearing  down  on  him  like  a  runaway  pack-pony. 
The  collision  was  tremendous.  Phyllis  dropped  both 
volumes  of  Mr.  Grant  Wilson's  careful  editing  on  the 
unoffending  feet  of  the  stranger,  who  uttered  a  loud  ex- 


210  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

clamation  of  mingled  surprise  and  pain,  and  leaped 
aside  with  a  vehemence  contrary  to  all  traditions  of 
Bates  Hall.  But  Phyllis  did  worse:  she  sat  down  with 
marked  emphasis,  and  without  loss  of  a  moment,  on  the 
stone  pavement,  her  hat  rolling  merrily  away,  and  her 
pocket-book  leaping  under  a  chair,  as  though  it,  as  well 
as  the  money  it  was  made  to  contain,  had  wings. 

Some  school  children,  reading  as  decorously  as  the 
Boston  youngsters  of  the  comic  papers,  yielded  to  the 
irresistible,  and  laughed  aloud,  even  boisterously.  An 
old  gentleman  of  Teutonic  build  looked  up  from  a  black 
volume  that  suggested  magic,  and  exclaimed:  "Mein 
Gott  im  Himmel!  Was  fur  eine  Backfisch  ist  das!" 
And  a  lady  of  that  too  certain  age  which  is  politely 
called  uncertain,  dropped  several  valuable  starred  pam- 
phlets which  she  had  been  consulting,  to  hasten  forward 
with  offers  of  sal  volatile  and  court-plaster,  while  four 
attendants  ran  from  as  many  directions  to  rescue  the 
library  property  which  the  accident  had  scattered  broad- 
cast. 

The  young  man  whom  she  had  so  unwarrantably  as- 
saulted helped  Phyllis  to  her  feet,  the  gingerly  manner 
in  which  he  held  up  his  own  right  foot  meanwhile  sug- 
gesting that  his  instep  had  found  the  "  Memorial  His- 
tory" a  solid  work  in  more  senses  than  one. 

Phyllis 's  face  was  crimson  with  mortification,  and  she 
stammered  incoherent  apologies  as  she  accepted  the  hat 
her  victim  handed  her,  and  smartened  the  disheartened 
ribbons  as  well  as  she  could.  The  young  man  went  on 


THE  STEAY  UNIT  211 

all  fours,  and  fished  out  the  truant  pocket-book  from  be- 
neath the  chair,  at  the  same  time  gathering  up  a  hand- 
ful of  papers  which  had  escaped  from  its  outer  compart- 
ment. Among  them  was  a  visiting-card;  perhaps  the 
impulse  that  made  him  glance  at  the  card  before  return- 
ing it  was  not  altogether  proper,  but  it  was  excusably 
natural  under  the  circumstances.  As  he  read  the  name 
and  address,  the  expression  of  mingled  annoyance  and 
pain  his  face  had  worn  since  the  encounter  gave  way  to 
surprise  and  amusement. 

"Mrs.  Dean!"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  cultivated 
and  agreeable,  even  in  the  low  tone  necessary  to  library 
intercourse.  "Let  me  congratulate  you,  ma'am;  you 
have  found  the  Fountain  of  Youth.  When  I  last 
saw  you,  you  were  forty  years  older  than  you  are 
now. ' ' 

Phyllis  laughed  in  spite  of  herself,  but  she  did  not  see 
fit  to  reveal  her  identity. 

' '  Thank  you,  and  please  try  to  forgive  me  for  my  awk- 
wardness," she  said  instead. 

"The  awkwardness  was  entirely  mine,"  said  her  vic- 
tim, fibbing  politely,  ignoring  his  aching  instep,  like 
the  hero  and  squire  of  dames  he  was.  "It  was  unpar- 
donable of  me  to  dash  along,  with  my  head  buried  in 
'The  Ring  and  the  Book,'  though  it  really  does  swamp 
most  heads.  I  cannot  forgive  myself  for  knocking  you 
down." 

There  was  a  merry  twinkle  in  the  big  blue  eyes  look- 
ing out  of  the  decidedly  handsome  face,  which  was  pre- 


212  THE   WYNDHAM  GIELS 

ternaturally  grave,  and,  this  time,  Phyllis  did  not  try 
not  to  laugh. 

' '  Well,  if  you  call  that  rushing ! ' '  she  said,  remembering 
her  own  pace,  and  how  her  victim  had  been  sauntering 
as  she  steamed  down  on  him.  "You  are  very  good,  and 
I  am  as  grateful  as  I  am  mortified ;  I  can 't  say  more. ' ' 

Having  had  enough  of  study  for  the  day,  and  not  de- 
siring to  loiter  on  the  scene  of  her  discomfiture,  Phyllis 
bowed,  and  passed  out  of  the  library.  Her  victim  gazed 
after  her,  thoughtfully.  "She  's  a  pretty  girl,  and  a 
nice  one,  I  '11  bet  golden  guineas  to  brass  buttons,"  he 
thought.  "Knows  Mrs.  Dean!  I  '11  consult  Rick  Dean; 
he  may  know  who  she  is."  Kick  Dean  was  Mrs.  Dean's 
nephew.  When  Alan  Armstrong,  Phyllis 's  victim,  con- 
sulted him  as  to  the  possible  identity  of  the  girl  who 
"caromed  on  him,  and  went  into  a  pocket  herself  like 
mad,"  as  he  described  the  disaster,  in  billiard  terms, 
Rick  laughed  till  his  eyes  were  moist.  "By  Jove,  it  's 
my  aunt's  little  companion  from  New  York,  Miss  Phyl- 
lis Wyndham,"  he  said.  "She  's  tremendously  nice- 
pretty,  thoroughbred,  and  all  that.  They  lost  their 
money  about  a  year  ago,  and  she  is  earning  her  little  liv- 
ing, while  preparing  to  be  a  second  George  Eliot,  or 
something.  She  goes  to  the  library  every  chance  she 
gets.  I  don't  believe  she  thinks  anything  else  here  is 
worth  wasting  time  on." 

"I  have  n't  been  to  see  your  aunt  for  ages,  Rick; 
don't  you  think  the  dear  old  lady  must  feel  hurt,  and 
want  me?"  blandly  inquired  Alan,  with  a  broad  wink. 


THE  STRAY  UNIT  213 

"I  '11  take  you,  but  there  's  no  use  trying  to  know 
Miss  Phyllis  very  well ;  she  's  as  friendly  as  pie,  but  she 
does  n't  care  a  snap  about  one,"  said  Rick,  with  profound 
conviction. 

' '  About  the  wrong  one !  She  '11  welcome  the  acquain- 
tance of  a  truly  charming  fellow,  with  literary  talents  of 
his  own,"  said  Alan. 

"Literary  talents!  Newspaper  reporting!"  said 
Rick,  scornfully.  "Hang  your  conceit,  you  blue-eyed 
Christmas-card!  But  I  '11  take  you  to  see  my  aunt 
whenever  you  like,  and  if  Miss  Phyllis  does  n't  knock 
the  vanity  out  of  you,  then  I  'm  mistaken. ' ' 

"She  is  good  at  knocking,  I  'm  ready  to  admit  that," 
said  Alan,  dodging  the  sofa  pillow  Rick  aimed  at 
him. 

Two  evenings  later  Rick  came  dutifully  to  call  on  his 
aunt,  and  brought  with  him  Alan,  whose  solemnity  of 
expression  was  a  study  as  he  made  his  best  bow  to  Phyllis 
Wyndham.  "I  'm  thinking  of  studying  law,  ma'am," 
he  replied  to  Mrs.  Dean's  inquiry  as  to  his  future  plans. 
"I  want  to  defend  my  own  suits  when  I  am  assaulted 
and  battered,  in  case  it  should  happen." 

"No  slurs,  if  you  please,"  laughed  Phyllis,  seeing 
Mrs.  Dean  looked  puzzled.  ' '  I  told  Mrs.  Dean  about  my 
mishap  in  the  library,  and  she  thought  it  rather  funny. 
Mrs.  Dean,  this  is  the  young  man  I  pelted  with  New 
York  history." 

"Is  it  possible!  Why,  he  's  Rick's  dearest  chum.  I 
am  glad  you  did  not  destroy  him,"  said  Mrs.  Dean. 


214  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

' '  We  used  to  call  Rick  the  '  Prince  of  Wales '  at  school, 
Miss  Wyndham,  because  Rick  Dean  sounded  so  much 
like  'Ich  dien.'  That  's  a  school-boy  joke  that  needs 
considering  to  appreciate.  Have  you  seen  much  of 
Rick's  sisters?"  asked  Alan. 

"They  come  here  occasionally,"  replied  Mrs.  Dean 
for  her ;  ' '  but  Miss  Phyllis  is  such  a  busy  little  creature 
they  have  n't  progressed  far  in  intimacy.  I  want  them 
to  be  much  together  this  summer  when  we  are  at  Hing- 
ham." 

"Still  clinging  to  the  south  shore,  Mrs.  Dean?"  asked 
Alan.  "Does  n't  that  little  cold  Boston,  as  Tom  Apple- 
ton  called  Nahant,  attract  you?" 

' '  I  shall  always  cling  to  dear  old  Hingham  while  I  am 
able  to  get  there,"  replied  Mrs.  Dean.  "I  despise  fash- 
ionable summer  places.  You  would  do  well  to  visit  us 
often  this  year,  young  man.  I  intend  making  it  pleasant 
for  this  little  girl,  and  she  is  well  worth  knowing. ' ' 

' '  One  of  the  most  striking  young  ladies  I  ever  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting, ' '  said  Alan,  with  a  deep  bow ;  add- 
ing, as  though  he  feared  he  was  impertinent  in  jesting 
on  such  short  acquaintance :  ' '  Miss  Wyndham  's  the  sort 
of  girl  that  needs  no  recommending ;  she  's  the  good  wine 
that  needs  no  bush." 

It  was  a  curiously  open  compliment,  but  the  boyish 
sincerity  with  which  it  was  uttered  deprived  it  of  of- 
fense. Mrs.  Dean  looked  pleased,  and  glanced  at  Rick  as 
if  to  suggest  that  he  was  missing  something.  She  was 
too  good  a  woman  not  to  love  match-making,  and  she  had 


THE   STRAY   UNIT  215 

hoped  that  her  favorite  nephew  and  Phyllis  might  be- 
come something  more  than  friends,  for  he  had  money 
enough  for  both,  and  Phyllis  was  going  to  be  the  woman 
of  Proverbs  whose  price  is  above  rubies.  But  so  far 
Rick  and  Phyllis  were  not  even  friends;  and  Rick  won- 
dered to  see  his  chum  making  speedy  progress  into  favor 
by  the  simple  method  of  frank  friendliness. 

The  transference  of  Mrs.  Dean's  household,  including 
Dundee,  the  collie,  and  Phyllis,  to  Hingham,  took  place 
in  June;  and  a  pleasant  life,  that  made  exile  far  easier 
than  it  had  been  in  town,  began  for  the  "Stray  Unit." 
Her  duties  as  reader  and  amanuensis  continued  regu- 
larly each  morning;  but  the  house  was  full  of  young 
people  coming  and  going,  and  though  no  one  could  take 
Jessamy's  and  Bab's  place,  it  was  natural  for  Phyllis  to 
be  happier  for  their  companionship.  Mrs.  Dean's  nieces 
were,  on  the  whole,  pleasant  girls,  and  their  friends 
frank  and  jolly.  Only  one  or  two  looked  askance  at 
Phyllis  as  Mrs.  Dean's  companion  and  their  social  in- 
ferior; but  they  were  obliged  to  veil  their  prejudices  in 
deference  to  Mrs.  Dean's  affection  and  the  boys'  admira- 
tion for  her. 

For  quiet  Phyllis,  to  her  own  unbounded  surprise, 
was  turning  out  rather  a  belle.  Young  men  may  be 
silly,  and  undoubtedly  do  not  always  show  supreme  wis- 
dom in  the  sort  of  girls  they  select  for  temporary  amuse- 
ment, but,  as  Rick  remarked,  they  "generally  know  a 
good  thing  when  they  see  it, ' '  and  the  girl  who  is  lively, 
pretty,  and  bright,  yet  never  forgets  for  a  moment  her 


216  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

maidenly  ideals,  is  sure  to  have  plenty  of  admiration 
of  a  sort  to  be  coveted. 

Phyllis  was  full  of  fun,  obliging,  and  gay;  yet  in  the 
frolic  and  freedom  of  summer-time,  when  the  best  regu- 
lated families  relax  much  of  their  vigilance  over  their 
younger  members,  Rick  and  his  comrades  realized  that, 
to  quote  Alan's  expressive  figure  of  speech,  "Phyllis 
stayed  on  her  own  side  of  her  fence,  though  she  posted 
no  notices  to  trespassers. ' ' 

Driving  parties  to  Nantasket,  Cohasset,  and  along  the 
beautiful  "Jerusalem  Road"  made  those  afternoons 
lively  which  were  not  still  more  pleasantly  spent  on  the 
yacht  which  the  young  Deans  had  brought  down  for  the 
summer.  Phyllis  had  been  taken  to  the  sea  from  her 
earliest  summers,  but  it  chanced  that  this  one  was  the 
first  in  which  she  tasted  the  joys  of  sailing,  and,  as  she 
wrote  home,  she  "discovered  that  she  had  been  born 
web-footed. ' '  There  were  long,  beautiful  days,  in  which 
Mrs.  Dean  excused  her  from  all  her  duties,  and  a  party 
of  ten  to  fifteen  young  folk  would  start  off  in  the  morn- 
ing, with  the  younger  Mrs.  Dean  for  chaperon,  and  sail 
to  some  definite  point,  fish,  make  their  chowder  on  board, 
and  come  back  on  the  afternoon  tide,  burned,  sticky, 
salted  by  the  wind  and  spray,  but  happy  as  robins,  and 
sleepy  with  a  peculiarly  delicious  sleepiness  that  made 
cool  linen  sheets  inexpressibly  refreshing. 

Phyllis  was  the  kind  of  sailor  that  a  skipper  loves— 
never  afraid,  happiest  when  the  boat  was  "on  her  ear" 
and  the  waves  breaking  over  the  deck,  but  contented  and 


THE  STRAY  UNIT  217 

cheerful  in  a  calm,  and  not  getting  hysterical  in  thunder- 
showers,  and,  above  all,  proof  against  seasickness,  even 
in  the  long  "ground  swell"  and  the  broiling  sun. 

One  day,  Rick  and  his  sisters,  three  girls  ranging  from 
fifteen  to  nineteen,  Alan  Armstrong,  Phyllis,  Rick's 
mother,  a  young  Scotchman  named  David  Campbell,  and 
two  more  of  Rick's  and  Alan's  college  chums,  with  three 
girl  friends  of  the  Deans,  started  out  on  the  Saxon  for 
a  day's  sailing.  The  plan  was  to  sail  down  to  the 
Lower  Light,  fish  off  the  Brewsters  during  the  turn  of 
the  tide,  make  a  chowder  of  the  perch  and  small  cod 
caught  there,  and  return,  with  a  favorable  breeze,  just 
late  enough  to  catch  the  young  moon  not  yet  ending  its 
first  quarter. 

David  Campbell  was  a  new  element  in  the  party,  and 
one  dreaded  by  all  the  rest.  First  of  all,  he  was  but  just 
over  from  the  "land  of  bannocks,"  and  his  speech  was 
not  as  intelligible  as  English  speech  might  be  expected  to 
be.  Then  he  was  lame,  and  there  were  many  subjects 
engrossing  to  gay  young  people,  such  as  sports  of  all 
kinds,  which  must  be  avoided  out  of  consideration  for 
one  debarred  from  them.  And,  above  all,  nobody  had 
the  faintest  idea  what  he  cared  most  about ;  which,  added 
to  his  burry  speech,  made  conversation  formidable.  But 
he  had  been  committed  to  the  elder  Mrs.  Dean  by  an  old 
friend  who  had  been  good  to  her  when  she  was  in  Scot- 
land, and  she  had  laid  the  strictest  injunctions  on  her 
kindred  to  honor  to  their  utmost  the  draft  made  upon 
her. 


218  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

There  was  a  strong,  southwesterly  breeze  in  starting 
out,  and  the  Saxon  lay  over  in  fine  style,  the  waves  curl- 
ing around  her  bow,  and  occasionally  shipping  over  the 
fore  deck  in  the  way  that  always  made  Phyllis  long  to 
shout  with  Viking  happiness. 

She  begged  the  privilege  of  sitting  up  by  the  mast— 
the  Saxon  was  a  sloop — and  Captain  Rick  gladly  ac- 
corded it;  for  Phyllis  grew  so  radiant  when  her  blue 
flannel  frock  was  soaked,  and  her  cheeks  got  so  red,  and 
her  hair  so  curly,  that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  look  on  her. 
All  the  party  chattered  behind  her  back,  but  she  paid  no 
attention  to  them  till,  after  a  time,  she  noted  that  David 's 
long-drawn  ''Aye"  of  assent  to  some  proposition  was 
growing  less  frequent,  and  she  turned  to  see  if  the 
stranger  were  neglected.  Yes,  there  he  sat,  rather 
apart  from  the  rest,  a  look  of  loneliness  in  his  blue  eyes, 
gazing  eastward. 

"This  won't  do,"  she  thought,  and  heroically  resigned 
her  glorious  perch  to  come  aft  and  brave  the  perils  of  a 
Scotch  accent  so  different  in  reality  from  reading  Barrie, 
with  the  privilege  of  skipping. 

"I  wish  we  were  going  to  sail  all  the  way  over,  don't 
you  ? ' '  she  asked,  seating  herself  beside  the  stranger,  and 
bringing  with  her  at  once  an  atmosphere  of  dampness 
and  cordiality. 

"Aye,"  said  David,  somewhat  startled,  but  smiling  in 
spite  of  himself  into  the  sweet  face  surrounded  by  its 
halo  of  curling  wet  hair. 

"I  long  for  England  and  Scotland,"  continued  artful 


THE  STRAY  UNIT  219 

Phyllis.  "Of  course  I  want  to  see  Italy  and  its  art; 
but  England  and  Scotland  are  home.  Long  ago  my 
father's  family  came  from  England,  and  a  little  more 
recently  my  mother's  ancestors  came  from  Scotland." 

"It  's  fine, ' '  said  David,  cautiously. 

"I  'm  sure  it  is,"  cried  Phyllis,  with  honest  warmth. 
"My  dearest  friends  are  Scotch  and  English— in  Scott 
and  Thackeray,  and  our  beloved  books,  you  know.  Are 
you  a  true  Scot,  and  think  Burns  the  greatest  of  poets  ? ' ' 

"Burns  is  a  great  poet,"  said  David,  cannily. 

"If  you  are  a  Campbell  I  suppose  you  would  throw 
me  overboard  if  I  quoted  'The  Bonnie  House  o'  Airlie,' 
would  you?"  asked  Phyllis. 

' '  The  uprooted  spray  of  heather, ' '  as  Alan  called  him, 
looked  surprised  and  pleased;  he  even  ventured  into  a 
question  on  his  own  part.  "How  comes  it  you  have 
heard  that  tale  over  here?"  he  asked;  only  he  pro- 
nounced "heard"  as  if  it  were  "hard,"  as  indeed  it  was 
to  his  companion. 

"Oh,  that  's  owing  to  Barrie,"  she  said.  "I  might 
never  have  paid  any  attention  to  the  note  to  the  ballad 
in  my  'Border  Ballads,'  but  I  laughed  till  I  cried  at 
the  story  of  the  piper  who  went  piping  out  of  town  in  a 
fury  because  he  was  a  Campbell  and  some  one  had  sung 
'The  Bonnie  House  o'  Airlie'  in  his  presence.  Do  you 
remember,  in  the  'Little  Minister'?" 

"Aye,  Barrie  is  humorous,"  assented  David,  with  an 
expression  so  at  variance  with  the  word  that  Phyllis  had 
to  turn  her  head  away  to  keep  from  laughing.  Fearing 


220  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

he  had  seen  her  amusement,  she  hastily  asked :  ' '  Would 
you  like  to  be  a  writer?  They  say  all  Scotch— or  Scots- 
men, as  you  would  say— love  learning.  What  are  you 
to  be?" 

"A  merchant.  My  father  sent  me  over  here  to  get 
into  a  New  York  firm;  I  hate  it,"  said  David.  "I  was 
to  have  gone  into  the  army." 

"And  have  you  given  it  up?"  asked  Phyllis,  absent- 
mindedly,  and  could  have  bitten  her  tongue  out  the  mo- 
ment she  had  spoken,  remembering  his  misfortune. 

"Can  a  cripple  enter  the  army?"  demanded  David, 
a  dark-red  color  rushing  up  under  the  freckles  his  recent 
sea-voyage  had  deposited  on  his  handsome  face. 

' '  Oh,  you  are  so  little  lame  I  quite  forgot  you  might  be 
disqualified  to  serve  the  queen— no,  the  king.  How  can 
you  speak  of  yourself  as  a  cripple  when  you  are  so  strong 
and  vigorous?"  said  Phyllis,  reproachfully;  though  the 
reproach  was  for  herself. 

"Would  you  like  to  be  a  man  who  could  do  nothing 
but  stand  in  a  counting-house?"  asked  David. 

' '  I  'd  like  to  be  a  man  with  your  breadth  of  shoulders 
and  splendid  vigor,"  said  Phyllis.  "Then,  we  Ameri- 
cans consider  a  successful  merchant  a  very  fortunate  and 
honorable  man." 

"Vera  likely;  but  it  's  no  the  career  for  me,"  said 
David,  getting  more  Scotch  in  the  vehemence  of  his  feel- 
ings. ' '  Consider,  if  you  were  to  fall  overboard  the  day, 
I  'd  have  to  sit  here,  while  some  of  these  smart  young- 
sters went  after  you— I,  who  could  swim  with  the  best 
of  them  when  I  was  a  lad. ' ' 


THE  STRAY  UNIT  221 

"But  I  promise  not  to  fall  overboard,"  said  Phyllis, 
gently;  "and  if  I  did,  and  you  were  disqualified  from 
fishing  me  out,  would  that  prove  you  unmanly  ?  Surely 
there  is  more  need  of  saving  people  on  dry  land,  so  to 
speak;  it  's  the  other  sort  of  strength,  not  physical 
strength,  that  is  most  needed.  Any  one  would  turn  to 
you  for  help  if  she  had  fallen  overboard,  in  a  figurative, 
not  literal  sense ;  there  is  something  so  reliable  in  all  of 
you  Scotch.  You  're  a  wee  bit  strange  to  us  all  at  first, 
but  you  will  like  us  when  you  know  us ;  and  if  I  were  you, 
I  should  forget  the  trifling  misfortune  to  your  foot— it 
is  such  a  very  little  thing.  Try  to  be  at  home ;  we  Ameri- 
cans are  rather  kindly,  'not  a  bad  sort,'  as  your  English 
neighbors  would  say." 

David  Campbell  looked  into  Phyllis 's  smiling  eyes, 
honest  and  clear  as  one  of  his  Highland  lakes;  her  sym- 
pathy, unspoken,  had  penetrated  his  Scotch  reserve 
finding  him  lonely,  and  he  had  spoken  to  her  as  he  would 
not  have  spoken  to  his  own  sister.  Now  gratitude,  and 
a  kindling  sense  that  she  had  uttered  the  truth,  and  that 
fine  opportunities  for  his  strong  brain  and  will  were  left 
him,  lame  though  he  was,  sent  a  thrill  over  him,  and 
made  his  voice  vibrate  as  he  said:  "One  of  them  is. 
You  've  been  kind  enough ;  you  're  not  like  our  notions 
of  the  reckless  American  girl.  I  am  certain  to  like  you 
— Americans."  There  was  a  touch  of  roguery  in  his 
tiny  pause.  ' '  And  if  ever  you  want  a  friend,  and  I  can 
be  of  use  to  you,  on  dry  land,  as  you  say,  count  on  David 
Campbell,  and  you  will  find  one  Scotsman  reliable,  I  'm 
hoping." 


222  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"Thank  you,  I  will  remember,  and  I  'm  sure  I  shall," 
said  Phyllis,  heartily;  and  they  shook  hands  on  the 
bargain. 

' '  That  was  fine  of  you,  Miss  Phyllis, ' '  said  Alan  Arm- 
strong that  night,  as  the  Saxon  crept  up  the  bay,  sails 
free  of  the  light  easterly  breeze,  and  the  young  moon 
shedding  a  short  track  on  the  ocean.  ' '  You  were  mighty 
good  to  our  friend  from  the  Tweed-side.  I  could  n't 
help  hearing  what  you  said  to  him;  I  was  surprised 
that  he  spoke  out  that  way,  but  it  was  lucky  he  did,  for 
he  must  have  been  feeling  lonely  to  have  done  it,  and 
probably  thought  we  were  guying  him.  You  handled 
him  like  an  angel,  and  has  n't  he  been  different  ever 
since  ?  Only  look  at  him  now ! ' ' 

Sure  enough,  David  was  chatting  with  Rick  and  Annie 
Dean,  giving  them  bits  of  Scottish  lore  and  Scottish 
songs,  not  minding  that  they  did  not  always  understand 
the  speech,  which  was  correct  English  in  form,  but  very 
much  like  the  New  England  country  roads  with  the 
raised  places  across  them  at  intervals,  which  the  natives 
call  "  thank-you-marms, "  and  which  are  so  very  bumpy 
that  smooth  driving  is  impossible. 

"Yes,  he  has  decided  to  trust  us,  has  n't  he?"  said 
Phyllis.  "He  is  a  fine  fellow,  and  I  am  glad  he  is  be- 
ginning to  feel  at  home.  It  must  be  dreadful  to  get 
among  a  lot  of  hard-hearted  young  folks,  who  see  only 
the  funny  side  of  a  new-comer's  peculiarities." 

' '  Do  you  know,  you  smooth  out  all  the  wrinkles  where- 
ever  you  go?"  asked  Alan.  "The  Heather  is  not  the 


THE   STRAY  UNIT  223 

only  blossom  that  would  be  proud  to  be  worn  as  a  friend 
in  your  buttonhole. ' ' 

"And  it  shall  not  be  the  only  blossom  I  gladly  claim," 
smiled  Phyllis.  "The  'Stray  Unit/  as  they  call  me 
at  home,  is  in  a  fair  way  to  be  spoiled,  and  you  are  all 
making  her  a  happy  unit,  in  spite  of  her  longing  to  see 
the  nicest  family  a  girl  ever  had. ' ' 

"I  bet  anything  you  like  they  are  all  ciphers  by  com- 
parison," said  Alan,  with  profound  conviction;  "and 
that  you  were  the  unit  that  made  them  a  numeral." 

Phyllis  laughed,  and  shook  her  head.  "Wait  till  I 
go  home,  and  you  all  come  to  see  me,"  she  said.  "Bar- 
bara is  the  brightest,  most  attractive,  dear  little  scamp 
you  ever  knew;  and  Jessamy— Jessamy  is  too  beautiful 
to  be  real,  and  all  pure  gold.  If  you  knew  them,  you 
would  see  who  was  the  cipher,  if  ciphers  there  are." 

The  Saxon  made  her  mooring  in  Hingham  harbor 
rather  later  than  usual,  for  the  breeze  was  very  light; 
but  no  day  on  the  yacht  was  ever  too  long  for  Phyllis. 

David  Campbell  took  a  pair  of  oars,  and  he  and  Rick 
raced  to  the  wharf  the  two  small  boats  in  which  the 
Saxon's  passengers  were  landed.  Phyllis  was  glad  that 
the  big  young  Scotsman's  strong  arms  out-pulled  slen- 
der Rick,  with  his  university  training,  and  that  David 
won  the  race.  It  had  been  a  beautiful  day,  and  the  lit- 
tle "Stray  Unit"  went  happily  to  bed,  glad  in  her  own 
pleasure,  glad  at  having  made  another  happy.  But  she 
did  not  know  that  her  sympathy  and  tactful  kindness  had 
won  her  a  friend  who  was  to  be  a  gain  to  her  entire  life. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


THE  LITTLE  BLIND  GOD  OPENS  HIS  EYES 

HILE  Phyllis  was  having,  as  she  said 
in  her  letters,  a  pleasant  amphibious 
summer,  the  rest  of  the  Wyndhams 
were  staying  in  town  for  the  first  time 
in  their  lives.  New  York  is  not  as  bad 
a  place  during  the  heated  months  as 
people  think  it  who  fly  from  the  first  touch  of  the  mount- 
ing sun.  Except  for  the  noise,  even  Mrs.  Wyndham  did 
not  find  it  uncomfortable,  and  the  noises  could  be  for- 
gotten while  she  rested  and  read  in  their  little  dining- 
room,  the  depth  of  the  apartment  away  from  them. 

Jessamy  and  Barbara  discovered  that  there  was  much 
to  be  enjoyed  in  early  rising  for  walks  in  the  park; 
still  more,  in  trips  for  which  they  had  started  betimes 
to  take  a  car  at  the  Bridge  and  go  down  to  the  sea,  bowl- 
ing along  at  a  tremendous  rate  after  they  had  passed 
the  crowded  Brooklyn  streets,  and  getting  cool  and  in- 
vigorated as  the  swift  flight  of  the  car  blew  their  hair 
back  from  their  faces  with  a  wind  salt  from  the  ocean. 
Nor  were  the  long  sails  up  the  wonderful  Hudson  less 

224 


THE  LITTLE  BLIND  GOD  OPENS  HIS  EYES        225 

than  a  revelation  of  delight,  especially  to  artistic  Jes- 
samy,  whose  soul  reveled  in  beauty  such  as  the  whole 
world  can  hardly  equal— beauty  they  had  heretofore 
missed,  because  it  lay  so  near  to  them  and  they  had 
wandered  away  in  summer  to  fashionable  resorts. 

Ruth  took  her  vacation  like  a  dissecting-map,  she  said, 
in  little  bits,  which,  fitted  together,  would  make  a  whole 
of  more  than  two  weeks ;— she  filled  the  place  that  would 
have  been  Phyllis 's  in  the  excursions  of  that  summer. 
And  Tom,  graduated  now  into  a  full-fledged  Doctor  of 
Medicine,  with  a  degree  and  a  diploma,  and  everything 
ready  for  a  large  practice,  except  his  contract  with  an 
undertaker,  as  he  himself  declared— Tom  was  the  escort 
and  cicerone  on  every  trip,  with  Nixie,  his  hair  clipped 
for  the  summer,  to  complete  the  party  when  its  destina- 
tion was  one  that  allowed  the  presence  of  little  dogs. 
Jessamy,  watching  the  course  of  affairs,  with  double 
eagerness  for  Bab's  happiness  and  Phyllis 's  return, 
sometimes  was  almost  completely  discouraged  by  the  be- 
havior of  her  trying  sister.  Since  the  theatricals  Tom 
had  been  turning  with  constantly  increasing  evidences 
of  liking  to  Babbie,  and  Jessamy  began  to  feel  quite  cer- 
tain that  his  dawning  fancy  for  Phyllis,  nipped  timely 
in  the  bud,  would  blossom  into  real  love  for  wayward 
Bab,  if  that  young  person  would  allow  it  to  do  so.  But 
Barbara  behaved  in  such  a  way  that  Jessamy  wondered 
that  Tom  could  be  patient  with  her,  and,  much  more,  that 
he  could  find  attraction  in  her  thorniness. 

"She  is  Barbie,  not  Babbie,  mama,"  Jessamy  said, 


226  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

with  tears  of  impatience  in  her  eyes,  one  night  when  the 
four  young  people  had  returned  from  an  afternoon  at 
Glen  Island.  Now  that  Phyllis  was  writing  so  cheer- 
fully, and  the  choice  she  had  made  seemed  to  be  turning 
out  well,  for  her  at  least,  Jessamy  had  told  her  mother 
Phyllis 's  motive  in  going,  for  she  longed  to  have  her  un- 
selfish little  cousin  held  at  her  true  worth  by  all  who  were 
dearest  to  her. 

"You  have  not  the  slightest  idea  of  how  Bab  behaved 
to  Tom  to-day,  and  he  was  a  perfect  saint  in  patience  and 
kindness,"  Jessamy  continued.  "She  is  driving  away 
her  own  happiness  in  spite  of  Phyllis 's  sacrifice  for  her. 
You  know  it  would  have  been  lovely  for  Tom  and  Phyllis 
to  have  cared  for  each  other,  and  now  Bab  is  going  to 
offend  him  beyond  pardon,  and  we  shall  lose  the  dear 
boy  altogether.  I  feel  so  sorry  for  Tom  I  can  hardly 
keep  from  saying :  '  Oh,  Tom  dear,  just  please  marry  me, 
and  let  that  naughty  girl  go ! '  ' 

"That  would  be  a  singular  performance  on  the  part 
of  my  dignified  elder  daughter,"  laughed  her  mother, 
' '  and  rather  a  useless  one,  because,  you  see,  Tom  does  n  't 
want  to  marry  you.  Perhaps  he  will  never  want  to 
marry  Babbie,  so  try  not  to  worry,  Jessamy.  I  should 
He  glad  when  the  day  comes  that  I  must  give  one  of  you 
up,  if  it  could  be  into  the  hands  of  as  trustworthy  a 
man  as  Tom ;  but  I  am  in  no  hurry  to  meet  the  day,  so 
let  matters  take  their  course,  Jessamy,  my  dear. ' ' 

"They  are  n't  taking  their  course,"  sighed  Jessamy. 
"And  you  are  forgetting,  mama,  that  Bab  is  so  dreadful 


THE  LITTLE  BLIND  GOD  OPENS  HIS  EYES   227 

because  she  really  likes  Tom  so  very  much.  Of  course  he 
may  never  want  to  marry  her ;  that  is  what  bothers  me.  I 
should  think  it  would  be  a  miracle  if  he  did.  She  has 
made  up  her  mind  to  be  true  to  her  name,  and  has  put  a 
barbed  wire  fence  all  around  herself.  I  wish  I  could  get 
her  straightened  out,  and  bring  Phyllis  home,  and  all  be 
happy  again. ' ' 

"Let  matters  take  their  course,  Jessamy,"  said  her 
mother  again.  "Barbara  is  very  young;  I  really  be- 
lieve, on  the  whole,  I  am  glad  not  to  see  my  baby  with  a 
lover — even  Tom." 

Jessamy  had  not  exaggerated  Barbara's  freakishness 
toward  unoffending  Tom.  There  were  days  when  she 
treated  him  quite  tolerantly,  sometimes  even  let  him  get 
glimpses  of  the  sweet,  sunny  Barbara  he  had  first  known ; 
but  most  of  the  time  she  was  sharp  of  tongue,  uncertain 
in  disposition,  unjust,  and  actually  pert.  The  receipt  of 
a  small  service  from  Tom  was  enough  to  plunge  her  into 
saucy,  school-girl  sarcasm  that  was  so  unlike  herself,  so 
unworthy  of  her,  that  Jessamy  held  her  breath  lest  she 
not  only  offended,  but,  worst  of  all,  disgusted  Tom ;  and 
for  disgust  Jessamy  had  heard  there  was  no  cure. 

The  pitiable  part  of  it  was  that  poor  little  Babbie  evi- 
dently hated  herself  for  being  so  wayward  and  naughty, 
and  Jessamy  often  saw  her  turn  away  to  hide  her  tears 
after  an  especially  vicious  attack  on  Tom,  to  which  she 
was  apparently  impelled  by  a  force  stronger  than  her 
will  and  judgment. 

For  a  long  time  Tom  bore  this  treatment  with  dignified 


228  THE   WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

patience,  struggling  hard  to  keep  his  promise  to  Phyllis 
and  regain  the  little  Bab  he  knew  and  cared  for.  Then 
Jessamy  saw  that  he  was  letting  Babbie  severely  alone, 
studying  her  with  pained  surprise  in  his  honest  eyes,  and 
she  hoped  that  the  study  might  give  him  a  clue  to  the 
cause  of  Bab's  transformation.  For,  she  thought,  she  is 
exactly  like  Beatrice  herself;  and  when  Benedick  sus- 
pected that  she  snubbed  him  because  she  cared  for  him, 
he  began  to  care  for  her.  But  Tom  was  far  too  modest 
and  inexperienced  to  construe  the  little  active  verb,  with 
its  moods,  which  he  was  studying,  by  any  such  rule.  He 
decided  that  Barbara  had  found  him  a  nuisance,  and 
wanted  to  drop  his  acquaintance ;  so,  hurt  to  the  core,  he 
silently  acquiesced  in  her  decision,  and  the  Wyndhams 
knew  him  and  Nixie  but  rarely. 

As  weeks  went  by,  and  Tom's  sole  visit  had  been  to 
herself  when  Jessamy  and  Barbara  were  known  to  be  out 
at  lectures  which  they  were  attending,  Mrs.  Wyndham 
began  to  share  Jessamy 's  feeling  that  if  something  were 
not  done  a  possession  more  precious  than  the  wealth  they 
had  lost  might  drift  away  from  her  girls  forever.  Mrs. 
Wyndham  was  thoroughly  unworldly;  it  would  be  hor- 
rible to  her  even  to  think  of  making  a  marriage  for  her 
children  from  ambitious  motives;  but  she  realized  how 
rarely  in  a  long  life  one  finds  a  true  friend ;  and  she  be- 
gan to  feel  that  it  would  not  do  to  sit  passive  while  Bab- 
bie drove  Tom  away.  Besides,  it  was  dreadful  to  know 
that  the  poor  boy  was  feeling  that  his  friends  were 
changed  to  him,  who  had  never  been  less  than  devoted 


THE  LITTLE  BLIND  GOD  OPENS  HIS  EYES        229 

to  all  of  them  in  the  hard  days  at  the  "Blackboard," 
and  ever  since. 

That  night  Mrs.  Wyndham  went  into  Bab's  room  in 
the  dark  to  find  her  crouching,  a  forlorn  little  heap  of 
misery,  in  her  chair,  sobbing  under  her  breath  lest  Jes- 
samy  hear  in  the  next  room.  Her  mother  gathered  her 
up  in  her  arms,  and  sat  down  in  the  rocking-chair,  Bab- 
bie half  in,  half  off  her  lap,  and  rocked  and  cuddled  her 
without  a  word.  For  a  while  Bab  cried  tempestuously, 
but  after  a  time  the  clasp  of  the  arms  which  had  always 
soothed  her  childish  griefs  quieted  her ;  indeed,  Babbie 's 
grief  might  be  of  a  sentimental  nature,  but  she  was  a 
child  still. 

When  she  was  calm  enough  to  listen  Mrs.  Wyndham 
said :  ' '  Now,  my  little  Babbie,  you  are  unhappy  because 
you  have  been  a  saucy  little  Bab,  and  have  driven  away 
with  cruel  injustice  the  best  friend  you  and  Jessamy  and 
Phyllis  have,  except  one  another.  It  is  a  pity,  but  it  is 
something  to  set  right,  not  to  cry  over.  We  will  send  a 
note  of  apology  to  Tom,  and  we  will  tell  him— I  will 
write  it— that  Babbie  is  dreadfully  contrite  over  her 
whimsies  of  the  summer,  but  that  they  arose  from  little 
private  worries  of  her  own,  which  she  was  unjust  enough 
to  visit  upon  him.  And  Tom  will  come,  and  Barbara 
will  be  kind  and  cordial,  first  because  she  has  abso- 
lutely no  right  to  treat  Tom  rudely;  secondly,  because 
she  will  have  too  much  regard  for  her  dignity  as  a  young 
woman,  not  a  capricious  child,  to  give  way  to  her 
impulses. ' ' 


230  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"It  's  too  late,  mama,"  moaned  Bab.  "Tom  asked 
me  what  was  wrong,  and  I  told  him  nothing,  but  that  I 
was  tired  of  seeing  the  same  faces  all  the  time.  And  then 
he  stopped  coming.  And,  Madrina, ' '  she  added,  starting 
up  with  sudden  resolution  to  be  honest,  "I  have  acted 
as  I  have  just  because  he  liked  Phyllis,  and  I  was  afraid 
— oh,  I  was  afraid  he  would  think  she  thought  I  liked 
him— too  much,  you  know,  and  so  had  gone  away!" 

"What  a  foolish  Babbie!"  said  her  mother,  stroking 
her  hair.  "Tom  does  not  care  more  for  Phyllis  than  for 
you.  He  was  beginning  to  turn  to  her,  but  she  slipped 
away  in  the  beginning,  and  Tom  has  found  my  little 
Babbie  more  than  he  realized,  now  that  he  has  been 
thrown  with  her  more.  Tom  would  never  dream  Phyllis, 
or  any  one  else,  suspected  you  of  liking  him  too  well ;  he 
is  not  a  coxcomb,  but  a  straightforward,  honest  young 
fellow,  who  loved  us  all.  He  is  hurt  and  angry  that  one 
of  us  could  be  so  capriciously  unjust  to  him.  You  have 
no  right— no  moral  right,  Barbara— to  let  this  go  on  an- 
other day.  And  if  our  dearest  Phyllis  hoped  to  further 
your  happiness  in  going  away,  you  surely  can  do  no  less 
than  love  her  better  than  ever,  and  return  her  goodness 
to  Tom." 

"I  '11  do  my  best  to  behave  better,  Madrina,  if  you 
can  get  Tom  back ;  but  I  'm  afraid  I  shall  be  bad  again 
when  I  see  him, ' '  said  Barbara,  contritely. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  smiled  in  the  security  of  the  darkness. 
"You  must  behave  well  for  your  own  sake,  Babbie.  You 
know  what  every  one  will  say  if  they  see  you  treating 


THE  LITTLE  BLIND  GOD  OPENS  HIS  EYES        231 

Tom  abominably,  without  cause.  And  if  we  apologize 
successfully  to  him  this  time,  we  can  never  do  so  again. ' ' 

Mrs.  Wyndham  wrote  a  most  affectionate  note  to  in- 
jured Tom,  and  Barbara  inclosed  a  note  of  three  lines  of 
her  own  in  brief,  but  humbly  contrite  apology.  It  was 
probably  the  latter  which  produced  the  desired  result, 
for  Tom  and  Nixie  appeared  that  evening,  and  Bab  sang 
and  played  his  favorite  airs,  and  peace  once  more  reigned 
on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson.  But  the  old,  free,  uncon- 
scious days  seemed  gone  forever ;  and  Jessamy,  and  even 
her  mother,  saw  with  regret  that  it  was  only  by  a  mighty 
effort  that  Bab  kept  up  the  cool  politeness  into  which  her 
good  intentions  had  degenerated.  Tom  came  much  less 
often.  It  looked  as  though  matters  were  settling  into  the 
frigid  decorum  hardest  to  break  up,  and  more  hopeless 
than  quarrels.  Thanksgiving  came  and  passed  with 
Phyllis 's  sacrifice  no  nearer  its  reward  than  at  first. 

On  the  top  floor  of  the  house  where  "The  Land  of 
Canaan"  apartment  made  the  third,  lived  a  family 
whose  youngest  member,  a  girl  of  eleven,  frequently  held 
what  Bab  called  "overflow  meetings"  with  her  dolls  on 
the  steps;  for  the  family  was  large — as  was  the  doll  fam- 
ily, for  that  matter— and  little  Margery  was  forced  to 
the  street,  the  playground  of  city  children,  by  lack  of 
space. 

A  friendship  had  sprung  up  between  her  and  the 
Wyndhams,  especially  Bab,  born  of  mutual  admiration 
for  Jumeau  babies  with  spasmodic  joints,  and  the  little 
girl's  unspeakable  worship  for  an  older  one.  Tom  was 


232  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

included  in  Margery's  favor,  both  for  his  own  and  Nix- 
ie 's  sake ;  once,  indeed,  when  the  child  had  a  sore  throat, 
Tom  cured  her,  and  henceforth  he  was  brevetted  "my 
doctor,"  a  distinction  he  valued.  Margery  was  a  quaint 
child,  given  to  the  companionship  of  books  and  people 
beyond  her  age,  and  with  the  contradicting  childishness 
and  maturity  of  an  only  child  in  a  family  of  adults. 
She  was  a  welcome  and  frequent  visitor  to  the  Wynd- 
hams',  petted  and  read  to  by  Jessamy  and  her  mother, 
spoiled  and  played  with  by  Bab,  for  whom  she  cherished 
a  dumb  devotion  not  unlike  Nixie's  own. 

As  weeks  went  on,  Margery's  sharp  eyes  discovered 
the  estrangement  and  increasing  coolness  between  "her 
doctor"  and  her  dearest  Bab;  and  after  long  puzzling 
over  it,  and  tentative  attempts  to  sift  the  matter,  she  set 
her  nimble  wits  to  work  to  remedy  it. 

Simple  methods  did  not  appeal  to  the  queer  little  girl ; 
but  at  last  she  hit  upon  a  plan  that  suited  her  childish 
love  for  melodrama  and  latent  longing  to  be  a  heroine. 
It  was  a  gray  December  day,  and  Margery,  left  alone 
with  the  servant,  recognized  her  opportunity.  Bab — 
alone,  too,  with  Violet,  as  it  chanced— was  startled  by  a 
violent  peal  of  the  bell.  Answering  the  summons  herself, 
she  faced  the  Hortons'  maid,  white  under  her  Irish 
freckles,  who  stood  wringing  her  hands  on  the  door-mat, 
and  who  cried  at  the  sight  of  her :  ' '  Oh,  Miss  Wyndham 
dear,  come  up  for  the  love  of  hiven !  I  do  be  alone  with 
Margery,  an'  she  took  that  bad  she  '11  be  dead  agen  her 
mother  comes  back." 


THE  LITTLE  BLIND  GOD  OPENS  HIS  EYES       233 

' '  Dead !  Margery ! ' '  gasped  Bab,  and  flew  up  the  stairs, 
outstripping  honest  Norah  in  her  alarm.  There  was  cause 
for  alarm  to  the  eyes  of  inexperienced  Bab,  as  she  looked 
at  the  little  figure  stretched  on  the  bed,  her  face  swollen 
out  of  all  likeness  to  pretty  Margery,  or  even  to  human 
features.  A  crimson  face,  with  cheeks,  eyelids,  lips 
puffed  and  distorted,  lay  on  the  pillow,  crimson  hands 
as  shapely  as  tomatoes  picked  the  quilt,  while  hollow 
groans  issued  from  the  purpling  mouth. 

"Oh,  dear,  darling  little  Margery,"  cried  Bab,  in  an 
agony  of  terror,  "what  has  happened?  What  can  be  the 
matter  ?  Run,  run,  Norah,  for  Doctor  Gilbert ;  I  '11  stay 
with  her.  It  must  be  poison;  oh,  what  has  she  eaten?" 

"Nothin',  miss,  but  her  lunch  wid  the  rest  of  'em," 
began  Norah,  while  Margery  moaned: 

"Not  Doctor  Gilbert.     I  want  my  Doctor  Tom." 

"Oh,  darling,  Doctor  Gilbert  is  so  much  older  and 
wiser, ' '  Bab  pleaded,  kneeling  by  the  bed ;  but  Margery 
only  burst  into  plaintive  sobs.  "I  want  my  doctor;  I 
should  n't  think  you  'd  be  cruel  now,"  she  sighed. 

' '  Then  call  Doctor  Leighton,  Norah, ' '  said  Bab,  blush- 
ing at  this  betrayal  of  Margery's  observation.  "Only 
hurry,  hurry!" 

It  seemed  hours  before  Tom  came,  though  Norah  met 
him  in  the  street  and  returned  with  him  in  half  of  one. 
Bab  spent  the  minutes  bathing  the  still  swelling  face, 
soothing  the  poor  little  patient,  and  trying  to  keep  her 
own  nerves  under  control.  Margery  grew  every  moment 
more  ill.  Would  Tom  never  come? 


234  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

At  last  he  did  come,  and  as  he  entered  the  room  the 
relief  was  so  great  that  Bab  forgot  to  incase  herself  in 
the  disguise  she  had  worn  so  long.  Her  eyes  were  so  full 
of  love  and  joy  as  she  raised  them  to  Tom  that  he  stopped 
short  in  amazement  at  the  revelation,  and  a  great  flood  of 
happiness  rushed  over  him,  too  great  for  any  circum- 
stances to  check.  ' '  Oh,  Tom,  I  'm  so  glad  you  have  come ; 
now  it  will  be  all  right/'  she  said,  in  a  low  voice  of 
utter  trust.  "Dear  little  Margery  is  dreadfully  ill,  but 
you  will  save  her.  I  have  done  nothing  but  bathe  her, 
for  fear  of  making  some  mistake." 

Tom  did  not  answer;  he  walked  straight  to  the  bed 
without  looking  at  Barbara.  His  heart  was  throbbing 
so  joyously  that  he  had  hard  work  to  force  his  thoughts 
to  duty. 

' '  Margery,  what  have  you  eaten  ? "  he  demanded,  hav- 
ing felt  the  child's  pulse  and  looked  closely  under  the 
almost  closed  eyelids. 

' '  Nothing, ' '  murmured  Margery. 

"Margery,  remember  that  I  am  a  doctor,  and  know 
when  I  am  told  the  truth.  You  must  tell  me  what  you 
have  taken,"  said  Tom,  sternly. 

Bab  crept  close  to  Tom,  oblivious  to  everything  else  in 
hearing  this  hint,  confirming  her  own  fear  of  poison. 
Tom  put  one  hand  over  the  two  little  ones  clasped  implor- 
ingly on  his  shoulder,  trying  to  remember  only  Margery, 
and  to  forget  that  this  was  Bab  coming  to  him  thus 
voluntarily. 

"I  always  tell  the  truth,"  said  Margery,  replying  to 


THE  LITTLE  BLIND  GOD  OPENS  HIS  EYES        235 

his  question  with  all  the  indignation  her  strength  al- 
lowed. "I  have  n't  eaten  anything;  but  I  did  n't  say 
I  had  n  't  taken  anything.  I  took  quinine ;  but  it  's  much 
worse  than  before.  I  would  n't  tell  you  if  I  was  n't 
dying. ' ' 

"Quinine!  Ah,  that  's  it!  And  worse  than  before, 
you  say?  Have  you  suffered  like  this  before  from  qui- 
nine?" asked  Tom,  comfortingly  patting  Bab's  head, 
which  had  dropped  on  his  shoulder  at  the  word  ' '  dying. ' ' 

"Once,  but  not  so  much.  I  did  n't  think  it  would  be 
so  awful  when  I  took  it,  though  I  did  think  I  'd  feel 
very  badly.  The  doctor  said  I  had  an  idiotsinkersy  in 
me  about  taking  quinine,"  groaned  Margery. 

"Did  you  take  it  purposely?"  asked  Tom,  amazed, 
as  he  handed  a  prescription  to  Norah  and  bade  her  hasten 
to  get  it  filled.  "That  was  certainly  an  'idiotsinkersy.' 
Why  have  you  done  such  a  thing  ?  Do  you  like  to  be  ill, 
Margery  ? ' ' 

"No;  but— oh,  my  mama  won't  like  to  find  me  dead!" 
And  Margery  burst  into  open  wailing,  in  which  Bab 
joined. 

"You  are  not  going  to  die,"  said  Tom.  "Bab  dearest, 
don 't  feel  so  dreadfully ;  Margery  will  come  out  all  right. 
But  why,  in  the  name  of  all  that  's  wonderful,  have  you 
deliberately  taken  what  you  knew  would  make  you  ill, 
little  lass?" 

"For  your  sake,"  said  suffering  Margery,  as  impres- 
sively as  her  swollen  features  permitted. 

"For  my  sake!"  echoed  Tom,  dumfounded. 


236  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"I  knew  if  I  was  awfully  ill  Miss  Bab  would  be  nice 
to  you,  and  so  I  took  the  quinine, ' '  murmured  Margery. 

"You  dreadful  child!"  cried  Bab,  indignantly,  spring- 
ing away  from  Tom's  side. 

Margery  turned  away  without  a  word,  hiding  her 
swollen  face,  her  tears,  and  her  wounded  heart  in  the 
pillow. 

"Bab  does  n't  mean  that,  Margery,"  said  Tom,  gently. 
"You  are  giving  her  greater  pain  than  her  physical  suf- 
fering, Bab;  you  know  she  adores  you.  Be  just  to  the 
poor  mite,  and  remember  her  motives  were  good,  even  if 
you  don't  like  her  methods,"  he  whispered  hastily. 

Bab  knelt  contritely,  and  took  the  queer,  forlorn  little 
figure  in  her  arms.  "No,  of  course  I  did  n't  mean  that," 
she  said.  ' '  Forgive  me,  Margery.  What  made  you  think 
of  such  a  very  strange  thing  to  do  ? " 

"The  Bible  says  you  ought  to  lay  down  your  life  for 
your  friends,  does  n't  it?"  sobbed  Margery,  drying  her 
eyes  on  the  ruffle  of  her  nightgown  sleeve  in  default  of  a 
handkerchief. 

"It  says  you  can't  prove  greater  love  than  by  dying 
for  them— yes,"  said  Bab. 

"Well,  then,  I  thought  I  ought  to  be  willing  just  to 
be  sick  for  you,  when  all  the  books  say  how  every  one 
forgives  every  one  else,  and  foes  make  up,  around  sick- 
beds, and  things.  I  could  n't  bear  to  see  how  you  and 
my  doctor  were  getting  worse  foes  all  the  time,  so  I  took 
the  quinine,  though  I  knew  I  had  an  idiotsinkersy  in  me 
that  made  it  poison  to  me,  and  I  'd  be  dreadfully  sick. 


THE  LITTLE  BLIND  GOD  OPENS  HIS  EYES       239 

I  thought  you  'd  make  up  around  my  bed,  and  love  me, 
and  say  how  I  'd  saved  you,  and  how  you  'd  never  forget 
me.  And  you  are  friends  around  my  bed,  and  I  'm  fear- 
fully sick;  but  you  only  say  I  'm  dreadful.  Oh,  why 
don't  my  mama  come  back  and  take  care  of  me?"  And 
Margery  wailed  anew  over  the  ingratitude  of  humankind. 

What  could  Bab  say?  Or  how  could  she  do  less  than 
express— even  if  Tom  were  there— her  gratitude  to  this 
martyr  to  her  welfare? 

"Dear  little  Margery,  you  are  not  dreadful.  I  am 
dreadful  to  have  called  you  so,  even  though  I  did  n't 
mean  it.  I  was  annoyed  for  a  moment;  that  was  all. 
You  are  a  dear,  devoted  little  friend.  Please  forgive  me, 
for  you  know  I  love  you  dearly,"  she  said,  kissing  the 
wet,  shapeless  little  face. 

' '  And  my  doctor  ? ' '  stipulated  Margery,  before  accord- 
ing pardon. 

"I  think  we  shall  be  better  friends.  I  won't  be  horrid 
any  more,"  whispered  Barbara. 

And  then  Margery  gave  the  kiss  of  peace. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  had  come  in,  and  hearing  from  Violet 
whither  Tom  and  Barbara  had  gone,  and  why,  hastened 
up-stairs,  hoping  to  be  of  use.  In  a  few  moments  more 
Mrs.  Horton  returned,  and  Tom  escorted  Bab  down- 
stairs, leaving  Margery,  much  better,  to  the  competent 
care  of  the  two  mothers. 

Barbara  let  herself  into  her  own  apartment  with  her 
key,  and  for  a  few  moments  an  awkward  silence  pre- 
vailed, broken  at  last  by  Tom. 


240  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"I  think  I  shall  adopt  a  Margery  rampant,  with  a 
quinine  capsule  in  the  quartering,  for  my  coat  of  arms, ' ' 
he  said.  "I  've  an  idea  our  queer  little  friend,  with  a 
constitutional  idiosyncrasy  against  that  drug,  has  done 
me  a  great  service.  She  has  proved  that  you  do  not  quite 
hate  me,  do  you,  Babbie?" 

"No,  Tom;  but  you — you  like  Phyllis,"  stammered 
Bab. 

' '  Like  her !  I  love  her — the  unselfish,  dear,  good  girl ! ' ' 
cried  Tom.  "Have  you  been  jealous  of  Phyllis?  Then 
you  love  me,  Barbara.  You  could  n't  be  jealous  unless 
you  did !  I  did  imagine  once  that  of  all  the  dear  Wynd- 
hams,  Phyllis  might  be  dearest;  but  it  was  a  mistake. 
I  saw  straight  after  she  was  gone.  I  never  loved  her— 
not  that  way,  Bab ;  I  only  fancied  that  I  might.  But  I  do 
love  Phyllis  so  much  that  I  want  her  for  my  cousin. 
Will  you  make  her  my  cousin,  Babbie  ? ' ' 

' '  She  is  much  nicer  than  I, ' '  said  Bab,  very  low,  with- 
out raising  her  eyes,  and  clinging  to  her  last  moment  of 
freedom. 

"Bab,  don't  waste  any  more  time ;  you  have  treated  me 
badly  enough,  heaven  knows,  and  I  have  n't  enjoyed  it. 
Tell  me  you  love  me,  this  instant,"  said  Tom,  in  a  tone 
which  Barbara  might  have  resented  had  not  her  recent 
fright  and  humiliation  subdued  her. 

' '  I  love  you,  Tom, ' '  she  repeated  meekly,  and  straight- 
way forgot  all  doubt,  all  fear,  in  perfect  happiness. 

When  Jessamy  came  home  she  nearly  dropped  in  the 
doorway ;  for  there  was  Bab  throned  in  the  window,  look- 


THE  LITTLE  BLIND  GOD  OPENS  HIS  EYES        241 

ing  radiantly  pretty  with  the  depth  of  joy  and  womanly 
sweetness  the  events  of  the  afternoon  had  called  into  her 
face,  and  beside  her,  on  a  low  stool,  sat  Tom,  looking  en- 
tirely blissful  and  unusually  humble. 

He  sprang  up  as  he  saw  Jessamy.  ''Come  to  your 
brother,  Jessamy!"  he  cried.  "Bab  has  promised  to 
marry  me." 

"I  have  promised  not  to  marry  him,"  said  Bab.  "I 
have  told  him  I  will  not  so  much  as  hear  it  spoken  of  for 
ages.  As  though  I  wanted  to  marry  yet !" 

But  Jessamy  waited  to  hear  no  more.  She  threw  her- 
self at  Bab  in  some  mysterious  way,  and  hugged  and 
kissed  her  sister— with  a  kiss  for  Tom,  too— in  almost 
hysterical  rapture. 

"It  was  pretty  rough  on  me  to  be  treated  as  I  have 
been  lately,"  said  Tom,  as  they  tried  to  settle  down  to 
sanity.  "But  I  ought  to  have  known  what  it  meant;  for 
the  very  first  time  I  ever  saw  Bab,  she  threw  herself  at 
my  feet,  for  me  to  pick  up,  or  leave,  as  I  chose." 

' '  Why,  Thomas  Leighton ! ' '  cried  Bab,  indignantly. 

"Fact,  and  you  know  it,"  affirmed  Tom.  "Never 
mind,  Babbie ;  '  some  falls  are  means  the  happier  to  rise, ' 
you  know.  That  fall  of  yours  on  the  'Blackboard'  steps 
was  one  of  them ;  for,  my  heart,  are  n  't  we  happy ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  XV 


WREATHING  HOLLY  AND   TWINING  BAY 

WO  letters  were  despatched  to  Boston 
that  night — one  from  Jessamy,  one 
from  Bab— like  a  duet  chanted  to 
Phyllis.  The  burden  of  one  was,  in 
brief,  that  the  millennium  had  come 
upon  earth,  for  Bab  was  so  happy; 
and  of  the  other:  "Come  home,  come  home!" 

Phyllis  read  them  at  the  breakfast-table,  and  her  face 
lighted  up  with  such  joy  that  Mrs.  Dean  noticed  it  in 
spite  of  the  preoccupation  her  morning  mail  usually  in- 
volved. 

"Dear  little  Bab  is  actually  engaged  to  Tom.  Oh, 
I  am  so  thankful!"  Phyllis  said  in  reply  to  Mrs.  Dean's 
inquiry  as  to  the  cause  of  her  happiness.  ' '  I  am  afraid, 
Mrs.  Dean,  that  this  means  that  I  shall  have  to  go  home 
as  soon  as  you  can  get  ready  to  let  me." 

"For  the  holidays— not  longer?"  said  the  old  lady, 
sharply. 

"For  always,"  said  Phyllis,  gently. 
"I  should  like  to  know  why  your  cousin's  engagement 
involves  breaking  yours  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Dean,  disap- 

242 


WREATHING  HOLLY  AND  TWINING  BAY         243 

pointment  and  regret  shining  even  from  her  eye-glasses 
and  gray  curls.  "I  have  tried  to  make  this  a  home  to 
you,  and  I  hoped  to  keep  you  until  you  should  be  ready 
to  follow  your  exasperating  'Bab's'  example." 

"We  had  not  a  positive  engagement  to  each  other, 
dear  Mrs.  Dean.  Please  don't  think  I  am  breaking  an 
agreement, ' '  said  Phyllis,  distressed.  ' '  You  have  been  as 
good  to  me  as  you  could  be,  and  I  love  you  gratefully 
for  it;  but  they  want  me  very  much  at  home,  and  you 
won't  blame  me  for  liking  to  be  there  better  than  any- 
where else,  however  dear  the  elsewhere  may  be." 

"I  suppose  I  can't  blame  you,  but  it  is  most  disap- 
pointing and  annoying.  You  sly  little  minx!  I  believe 
you  only  ran  away  to  leave  the  field  clear  to  this  Babbie ; 
and,  now  the  danger  is  past,  you  are  ready  to  throw  me 
over,"  said  Mrs.  Dean,  with  sudden  acumen. 

Phyllis  laughed,  seeing  her  battle  won.  She  had 
dreaded  the  day,  and  speculated  as  to  the  manner  in 
which  she  should  announce  to  her  kind  friend  that  her 
hour  to  leave  her  had  come. 

There  were  two  weeks  wanting  to  the  arrival  of  Christ- 
mas day,  and  Phyllis  was  not  to  start  homeward  until  the 
twenty-third.  The  time  crawled  by,  in  spite  of  the 
young  friends  who  filled  every  spare  moment  with  plea- 
sure, trying  to  crowd  into  the  unexpectedly  brief  time 
left  them  in  which  to  enjoy  Phyllis  all  the  sight-seeing 
and  visiting  of  a  winter.  She  felt  guilty,  fond  as  she  had 
grown  of  them  all,  to  tell  off  each  sunset,  and  count  each 
moment  by  the  beats  of  feverish  pulses. 


244  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

At  last  the  twenty-third  came,  and  the  hour  for  start- 
ing to  the  station  struck. 

Rick  and  his  sisters  and  their  friends,  Alan  Arm- 
strong, and  David  the  Scot,  who  had  become  Phyllis 's  de- 
voted knight,  all  formed  her  body-guard,  laden  with 
flowers  and  candy  enough  to  have  done  credit  to  a  prima 
donna's  farewell. 

Mrs.  Dean  held  Phyllis  fast  as  she  kissed  her  good-by. 
' '  I  forgive  you  for  leaving  me,  my  dear,  though  I  hardly 
know  how  I  am  going  to  get  on  without  you.  You  have 
been  all  and  more  than  I  expected  you  to  be  to  me;  and 
though  I  do  admit  your  family's  claim  to  you,  I  dislike 
your  aunt  very  deeply  for  being  forced  to  admit  it;  and 
you  may  tell  her  so  from  me,  with  my  best  wishes  for  the 
coming  year.  But  I  won't  take  no  for  an  answer  to  my 
invitation  to  Hingham  next  summer,  if  I  live ;  so  be  pre- 
pared," she  said,  as  the  carriage  drove  up  to  carry  Phyl- 
lis away  from  her. 

At  the  station  there  were  the  usual  repeated  good- 
bys,  when  every  one  strains  hard  to  think  of  something 
to  say,  original  and  worth  remembering,  and  thus  rise 
equal  to  the  occasion,  but  succeeds  only  in  repeating 
the  promise  and  request  to  write  often,  and  in  giving  in- 
vitations, and  assurances  of  visits  and  remembrance, 
reiterated  with  a  fervor  that  is  intended  to  conceal  the 
conviction  that  the  speaker  is  falling  far  below  ordinary 
intelligence.  But  hearty  good  will  goes  far  to  make  up 
for  lack  of  conversational  brilliancy,  and  Phyllis  was 
surprised  to  find  how  fond  she  and  her  new  friends 


WREATHING  HOLLY  AND  TWINING  BAY          245 

really  were  of  one  another,  and  that  there  were  tears  on 
her  lashes,  glad  as  she  was  to  turn  her  face  toward  Go- 
tham. Alan  and  David  wrung  both  her  hands  sore,  bid- 
ding her  not  forget  them,  and  assuring  her  that  the  very 
first  thing  they  both  did  when  they  arrived  in  New  York 
to  seek  their  fortune— a  plan  to  be  carried  out  after  the 
New  Year— would  be  to  come  and  see  her,  without  which 
prospect  their  farewell  would  have  been  more  dreary. 
The  train  moved  out  at  last,  past  the  smiling  young  faces 
lined  up  to  nod  good-by  to  Phyllis,— the  girls,  with  tears 
in  their  eyes  in  spite  of  the  smiles,  waving  wet  handker- 
chiefs from  the  platform.  Phyllis  leaned  forward  to 
wave  as  long  as  the  last  of  the  row  was  in  sight,  then  set- 
tled back  in  her  seat  with  one  long  sigh  for  Boston  and 
what  it  held  that  was  dear  to  her,  and  a  leap  of  the  heart 
forward,  for  now  she  was  really  cut  adrift  from  exile, 
and  was  homeward  bound. 

Winter  though  it  was,  Phyllis  preferred  the  boat  to  the 
train  for  her  journey,  and  in  a  short  time  was  tucking 
away  her  belongings  in  her  berth,  taking  supper  in  the 
gay  dining-room,  listening  to  the  band  for  a  little  while, 
then  lying  down  to  slumber,  which  the  thought  that  she 
was  to  waken  in  New  York,  and  not  the  noise  of  the  en- 
gines, rendered  very  light  and  fitful. 

Far  from  waking  in  New  York,  she  was  up  and 
dressed,  with  all  her  books,  flowers,  and  candy  strapped 
up  ready  to  carry  off,  before  the  boat  had  sighted  the 
upper  end  of  Manhattan  Island ;  and  she  stood,  shivering 
in  the  gray  light  of  the  December  dawn,  as  one  by  one  the 


246  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

islands  of  the  river  crept  past,  looking  very  picturesque, 
seen  from  that  view-point,  and  with  proper  forgetfulness 
of  the  misery  and  sin  they  sheltered. 

Phyllis  grew  so  excited  she  could  not  stand  still  as  the 
boat  crept  down  past  the  lower  east  side  of  the  city,  un- 
der the  Brooklyn  Bridge,  swung  around  the  Battery, 
and  drew  near  her  pier  on  the  North  River.  How  beauti- 
ful the  spire  of  Trinity  looked,  and  the  new,  high  office 
buildings  which  dwarfed  it !  How  beautiful  were  even  the 
tall  brick  chimneys  of  the  factories,  for  they  were  part 
of  home !  Phyllis  could  have  put  both  arms  around  the 
square  tower  of  the  Produce  Exchange  and  kissed  the 
face  of  its  clock,  or  hugged  the  Barge  Office  with  enthu- 
siasm, unattractive  as  it  might  be,  ordinarily.  She  won- 
dered if  the  immigrants  crowded  around  it  would  have 
been  as  glad  to  see  their  distant  homes  again  as  she  was 
to  see  hers.  How  painfully  slow  the  boat's  crew  was  in 
making  her  fast  and  getting  out  the  gangway!  How 
exasperating  were  the  passengers— so  many,  too,  though 
it  was  December — who  were  in  advance  of  Phyllis,  and 
moved  like  snails  toward  the  pier!  Phyllis  was  nearly 
suffocated  with  the  flutterings  of  her  heart,  and  she  could 
hardly  hold  her  packages,  numerous  enough  to  have  war- 
ranted her  dropping  some  overboard  purposely. 

At  last,  at  last,  she  had  surrendered  her  ticket,  and  was 
moving  off  the  boat !  And  there,  just  at  the  gangway 's 
end,  concealed  from  her  till  this  moment  by  the  crowd- 
there  was  Jessamy,  more  lovely  than  ever,  with  her 
cheeks  glowing,  her  eyes  dancing;  pretty  Bab,  all  scin- 


WREATHING  HOLLY  AND  TWINING  BAY          247 

tillating  with  joy;  Tom,  proud  as  a  whole  flock  of  pea- 
cocks in  his  new  dignity,  with  Nixie — yes,  actually 
Nixie— on  a  leash,  sitting  up  and  behaving  like  a  man 
and  a  brother.  And  her  aunt!  Phyllis  could  hardly 
believe  her  eyes  that  Mrs.  Wyndham  had  braved  the  chill 
of  the  winter  morning  and  reached  the  pier  before  seven 
o'clock  to  prove  to  the  "Unit,"  who  prayed  to  stray  no 
more,  how  glad  she  was  to  get  her  back. 

Just  what  happened  when  Phyllis 's  foot  touched  the 
pier  no  one  could  say.  She  recognized  her  aunt's  veil, 
Jessamy's  fur  collar,  Bab's  nose,  and  even  Tom's  rough 
coat,  in  the  indiscriminate,  rapturous  embracing  she  was 
getting ;  but  everybody  was  hugging  her  and  talking  to 
her  at  once,  and  Phyllis  only  knew  that  it  was  rather  like 
a  blissful  Tower  of  Babel. 

The  party  walked  up  Warren  Street,  talking  still,  all 
at  the  same  time,  Bab  walking  backward  and  spinning 
around  like  Barney  in  "Martin  Chuzzlewit"  after  the 
accident.  It  took  all  of  Tom's  ability  to  keep  her  and 
Nixie  from  under  people's  feet.  Mrs.  Wyndham  and 
Jessamy  tried  to  behave  with  dignity,  but  it  was  not  a 
successful  attempt;  and  those  who  met  the  party  prob- 
ably set  them  down  as  harmless  lunatics  under  the 
convoy  of  one  young  keeper;  though  there  was  one  rud- 
dy-faced old  gentleman  who,  seizing  the  spirit  of  the 
occasion  and  the  season,  wished  Babbie  "A  merry  Christ- 
mas, my  dear,"  in  return  for  her  having  run  into  his 
portly  form,  and  trodden  on  his  most  sensitive  corn. 

Even  Nixie's  manners  did  not  admit  him  to  the  ele- 


248  THE  WYKDHAM  GIRLS 

vated  road,  so  they  took  the  surface  car,  Tom  remaining 
on  the  platform  with  the  small  dog  and  a  conductor 
blinded  in  the  most  efficacious  manner  to  his  presence; 
and  by  the  time  they  had  made  the  long  journey  to 
Harlem  much  of  the  excitement  had  cooled  down. 

It  broke  out  afresh,  however,  as  Phyllis  ran  from  room 
to  room  through  the  little  apartment,  which  looked  more 
beautiful  to  her  than  Mrs.  Dean 's  big  house  on  Common- 
wealth Avenue  could  ever  look,  exclaiming  over  every 
change,  and  still  more  surprised  over  those  things  which 
had  not  altered.  Truce  was  not  one  of  these.  The  snowy 
kitten  was  a  white  cat  now;  but,  as  Phyllis  said,  "did 
not  seem  to  know  it,"  for  he  ran  up  her  skirt  to  her 
shoulder,  and  sat  there  as  he  had  done  when  he  was  not 
much  bigger  than  a  thistle-ball,  proving  that  he  recog- 
nized her,  for  this  was  a  mark  of  affection  he  had  always 
reserved  for  his  mistress  alone. 

"Do  you  remember  last  Christmas  eve?"  asked  Phyl- 
lis, after  breakfast,  as  they  all  pushed  back  their  coffee- 
cups  with  the  involuntary  movement  of  those  who  have 
satisfied  hunger. 

"Are  we  likely  to  forget  it?"  said  Jessamy,  with  a 
shudder.  "It  did  not  mean  anything  to  you,  though; 
oh,  Phyllis,  this  ought  to  be  much  more  than  merely  a 
'merry  Christmas'  to  us!" 

"We  are  going  to  keep  it  in  baronial  style,"  said  Tom. 
"There  are  tons,  to  speak  comprehensively,  of  green  stuff 
coming  here  to-day,  and  we  are  going  to  trim  the  Land 
of  Canaan  till  Birnam  Wood  won't  be  a  twig  beside  it. 


WREATHING  HOLLY  AND  TWINING  BAY          249 

And  to-morrow  we  're  going  to  have  a  Christmas-tree, 
and  invite  our  friends,  preceded  by  a  dinner  to  which  we 
shall  not  invite  any  one,  because  the  dining-room  is  too 
small,  and  the  turkey  fills  all  the  spaces  we  do  not  re- 
quire. He  is  to  be  offered  up  to  you,  Phyllis,  in  honor 
of  your  repentant  return  from  your  wild  wanderings." 

"Is  n't  that  a  delightful  program!"  cried  Phyllis,  the 
joy  in  her  eyes  arising  more  from  noting  how  thoroughly 
Tom  had  assumed  his  place  as  the  son  of  the  little  family, 
than  from  the  prospect  of  Christmas  festivities,  however 
blithe. 

All  day  long  the  girls  climbed  step-ladders  and  wound 
ropes  of  evergreen  till  their  hands  were  stiff,  but  their 
hearts  so  light  that  they  hardly  knew  the  discomfort. 
By  night  the  little  place  was  a  bower  of  green,  with  red 
holly-berries  shining  in-  every  available  corner  like 
cheery  little  lanterns  signaling  coming  gladness. 

Not  one  day  had  passed  during  the  six  months  of 
Phyllis 's  absence  without  a  letter  from  her  crossing  an- 
other going  to  her  from  home ;  and  yet,  though  the  three 
tongues  had  rattled  as  fast  as  they  could  move  all  day, 
Jessamy,  Phyllis,  and  Bab  talked  till  midnight,  and  fell 
asleep  exhausted,  wishing  each  other  "Merry  Christ- 
mas, ' '  not  having  told  half  the  history  of  those  eventful 
days  of  absence. 

Christmas  day  was  bright  and  sunny— not  that  it  mat- 
tered with  so  much  sunshine  within  doors.  Violet,  who 
slept  at  home,  "because,"  said  Bab,  "the  bath-tub  was 
not  long  enough  for  a  bed,  and  there  was  no  room  for  her 


250  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

anywhere  else" — Violet  arrived  earlier  than  usual,  her 
face  beaming  with  anticipation  of  pleasure,  for  she  was 
that  rare  servant  to  whom  "company"  was  a  delight. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  peered  at  Tom  at  the  foot  of  the  table, 
from  her  place  at  the  head,  over  a  barricade  of  turkey, 
and  each  heart  throbbed  with  gratitude  that  it  was  their 
own  turkey,  served  on  their  own  table,  and  that  the  year 
that  had  passed  had  proved  that  a  home  and  happiness 
might  be  theirs,  although  loss  of  money  had  made  the 
maintenance  of  that  home  not  without  its  difficulties. 

Barbara  sat  at  Tom's  right  hand,  and  Tom's  youngest 
sister  at  Mrs.  Wyndham 's  right.  Phyllis,  watching  jeal- 
ously for  proofs  of  Tom's  love  for  Bab,  was  more  than 
satisfied.  Tom  and  Babbie  were  not  a  sentimental  pair, 
but  there  was  a  quiet  certainty  of  affection  and  a  per- 
fect comradeship  between  them  that  guaranteed  a  love 
founded  on  the  best  and  most  enduring  basis.  And  Alice 
Leighton  was  a  girl  after  their  own  hearts.  Bab  was 
surely  fortunate,  and  Phyllis  rejoiced  unselfishly. 

Although  the  little  parlor  had  seemed  filled  in  every 
corner,  one  had  been  cleared  for  the  tree,  and  a  curtain 
hung  across  it  that  there  might  be  something  in  the  cele- 
bration that  Phyllis  had  not  seen,  since  the  festivities 
had  taken  on  this  special  form  in  honor  of  her  return. 

At  a  little  after  eight  the  bell  tingled,  and  many  feet 
echoed  up  the  stairs. 

"Open  the  door,  Phyl,"  cried  Bab  from  her  room. 
Neither  she  nor  Jessamy  would  allow  Phyllis  a  glimpse 
of  them  dressing. 


WREATHING  HOLLY  AND  TWINING  BAY          251 

Phyllis  did  as  she  was  bidden,  and  started  back  in 
amazement  from  a  motley  assemblage  of  characters  from 
the  four  quarters  of  the  globe,  and  all  the  realms  of 
fairyland,  as  bewildered  Phyllis  at  first  thought. 

Santa  Glaus  led  the  way— a  small  man,  but  only  when 
measured  perpendicularly;  in  diameter  he  was  immense. 
After  him  came  Cinderella  and  her  godmother;  then 
Aunt  Henrietta,  who  disdained  masking  and  costuming, 
and  came  in  her  own  proper — most  proper— person.  Next 
followed  Red  Riding  Hood,  a  Viking's  Daughter,  Old 
Mother  Hubbard,  Pocahontas,  Little  Nell  with  her  grand- 
father, Bo-peep  with  a  woolly  lamb  under  one  arm,  and 
many  other  old  friends,  those  known  in  the  nursery  pre- 
dominating, since  it  was  a  Christmas-tree  party,  and 
childhood,  human  and  divine,  the  ruling  spirit  of  the 
feast. 

For  a  moment  Phyllis  did  not  know  how  to  act.  She 
felt  out  of  place,  with  her  own  face  undisguised  confront- 
ing the  queer  figures  bowing  and  saluting  her  cordially 
by  name,  not  one  of  whom  she  knew.  But  she  ral- 
lied quickly,  welcomed  them  politely,  wishing  that  Jes- 
samy  and  Bab  would  hasten  to  help  her  out.  But  Jes- 
samy  and  Bab  were  not  forthcoming.  After  a  few 
moments  Phyllis  realized  it  was  because  they  too  were 
costumed  and  masked,  mixing  with  the  other  mummers. 

Old  King  Cole  stepped  out  of  the  crowd  as  Phyllis  was 
wondering  what  could  be  done  with  so  many  in  such 
small  space,  and  calling  for  his  fiddlers  three,  demanded 
an  old  English  dance.  There  is  nothing  like  ignoring  a 


252  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

difficulty  when  there  is  no  way  of  doing  away  with  it. 
The  idea  of  dancing  when  she  was  fearful  there  would 
not  be  room  for  all  the  guests  merely  to  stand  rather  took 
Phyllis 's  breath  away;  but  everybody  seemed  to  fold 
himself  or  herself  up  to  make  room,  and  the  couples  for 
the  old  country  dance  were  on  the  floor  in  a  twinkling. 

"It  's  because  they  are  used  to  living  in  books,  so  can 
become  quite  flat,"  Bobby  Shafto  explained  to  her  as  he 
rose  to  lead  out  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  who  indicated  her 
previous  condition  by  poppies  all  over  her  costume  and 
in  her  hair,  but  showed  no  sign  of  relapsing  from  de- 
cided wakefulness. 

' '  Are  n  't  there  people  outside  of  books  who  are  flatter 
than  those  in  them?"  asked  Phyllis;  but  she  was  not 
thinking  of  plays  on  words,  but  that  the  dancers  of  to- 
night were  probably  the  actors  in  the  theatricals  of  last 
May,  who  had  then  learned  the  old  dance,  and  that  if  she 
watched  she  should  discover  which  were  Jessamy  and 
Bab,  and  which  Jessamy 's  friend,  Mr.  Lane,  in  regard  to 
whom  she  felt  considerable  curiosity.  It  was  not  hard 
to  distinguish  Jessamy,  who  had  a  certain  manner  of 
using  her  hands  all  her  own.  She  was  the  Sleeping 
Beauty,  and  Phyllis  guessed  that  Bobby  Shafto  was  Mr. 
Lane— or  should  it  be  the  other  way? 

It  was  not  long  before  she  discovered  Bab  in  the  guise 
of  Little  Miss  Muffet,  and  a  tall  Little  Boy  Blue,  with  a 
huge  Japanese  spider  on  a  sort  of  small  fishing-pole 
which  he  dangled  before  the  nervous  little  person  who 
lunched  out  of  doors  on  curds  and  whey,  was  Tom. 


WREATHING  HOLLY  AND  TWINING  BAY          253 

"And  who  am  I?"  asked  Cinderella's  godmother,  stop- 
ping before  Phyllis,  smiling  behind  her  muslin  mask  at 
the  girl's  preoccupied  face. 

"I  know  who  the  fairy  godmother  ought  to  be,"  said 
Phyllis.  "If  you  are  n't  Mrs.  Van  Alyn,  then  it  's  your 
own  character  which  is  the  disguise. ' ' 

' '  Bravo !  You  have  been  getting  clever  over  there  in 
the  land  of  Athena  Junior,"  laughed  the  godmother, 
and  her  voice  proved  Phyllis  right. 

"And  me?"  cried  Cinderella,  impatiently.  "Who 
ami?" 

' '  I  have  no  idea, ' '  Phyllis  was  slowly  beginning,  when 
Cinderella  interrupted  her. 

"How  can  you  be  so  dull?"  she  cried.  "Who  is  al- 
ways sitting  in  the  ashes,  and  likes  them  ? ' ' 

"Why,  Ruth!"  cried  Phyllis,  and  hugged  her  friend 
until  some  of  the  realistic  black  spots  on  her  gown  were 
transferred  to  her  own. 

It  was  not  a  very  conventional  party.  The  room  was 
' '  so  crowded  there  was  no  space  for  stiffness, ' '  said  Bab, 
truly ;  but  everybody  seemed  to  be  having  the  nicest  time 
— even  Aunt  Henrietta.  To  be  sure,  Phyllis  heard  her 
suggesting  to  Mrs.  Wyndham  that  parties  were  a  great  ex- 
travagance for  people  in  straitened  circumstances,  but 
that  was  said  rather  as  an  oblation  to  her  custom  of 
fault-finding,  and  not  heartily;  and  a  moment  later  she 
added  graciously  that  "the  girls  are  improving  daily. 
Even  Phyllis  is  becoming  more  and  more  a  Wyndham; 
they  are  all  clear  Wyndhams. ' ' 


254  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"Phyllis  is  just  as  much  a  Wyndham,  certainly,  as  her 
cousins, ' '  laughed  Mrs.  Wyndham. 

"Ah,  but  she  is  not  poor  Henry's  daughter,"  said 
Aunt  Henrietta  so  decidedly  that  the  remark  became  at 
once  illuminative  in  effect,  if  not  in  matter. 

"Ladies  in  the  center,  as  for  the  quadrille  figure," 
called  Old  King  Cole,  who  acted  as  master  of  ceremo- 
nies. "Men  join  hands  around  them;  ladies  form  line, 
hands  raised,  men  dance  through,  come  down  outside, 
take  places,  a  man  beside  each  lady. ' ' 

A  quaint  and  merry  air  was  played  by  a  pretty 
young  girl  whom  Phyllis  had  never  seen,  and  King 
Cole's  directions  were  carried  out,  almost  without  a  mis- 
take. 

"Left  hand  to  partner,  right  hand  on  mask,"  called 
that  jovial  person.  "Ready!" 

The  little  creature  at  the  piano  struck  three  chords, 
while  the  masqueraders  took  position.  It  really  was  very 
pretty,  small  as  the  space  was. 

Suddenly,  obeying  another  chord,  every  voice  poured 
out  in  the  carol : 

"Christ  was  born  on  Christmas  Day, 
Wreathe  the  holly,  twine  the  bay," 

and  sang  it  through  to  the  end.  Then  a  single  chord 
was  struck,  and  instantly  every  mask  was  swept  off  by 
the  raised  right  hands,  and  the  company  made  a  deep 
bow,  crying  in  unison:  "Merry  Christmas!" 

It  was  charming;  and  while  Phyllis  and  the  few  who 


WBEATHING  HOLLY  AND  TWINING  BAY          255 

were  not  a  part  of  the  figure  applauded  wildly,  Santa 
Glaus,  who  proved  to  be,  of  all  unexpected  persons, 
Lawyer  Hurd,  began  to  strip  the  tree. 

There  were  presents  for  every  one.  Phyllis  had  saved 
her  own  packages,  tucked  into  her  trunk  by  Mrs.  Dean, 
to  open  now;  and  all  the  little  trinkets  she  had  made 
or  got  together  for  her  family  they  had  made  her  keep 
for  the  tree.  Violet,  shining  and  smiling  in  the  back- 
ground, was  made  happy;  and  Truce  received  a  chicken 
wish-bone,  with  plenty  of  meat  on  it,  and  Nixie  a  French 
chop,  that  being  the  kind  of  comfit  suited  to  their  pal- 
ates, each  placed  in  a  candy-box  ornamented  with  a  pic- 
ture of  a  cat  and  a  dog  respectively.  Bab  opened  a  small 
case  Santa  Glaus  handed  her,  and  flushed  with  pleasure. 
A  little  miniature  of  Tom  smiled  up  at  her,  and  on  the 
back  was  engraved:  "Years  pass  away;  Love  lasts  al- 
way."  Since  that  morning  a  diamond,  set  as  lightly  as 
possible,  shone  on  Barbara's  little  left  hand  like  a  drop 
of  dew. 

But  Phyllis 's  surprise  was  so  complete  and  delightful 
that  no  one  was  happier  than  she.  She  had  written  since 
she  had  been  away  and  sent  to  Jessamy  two  or  three  short 
stories  for  her  illustrating,  and  had  wondered  what  had 
become  of  them,  knowing  that  Jessamy  had  done  the  work 
and  sent  them  to  magazines.  No  one  told  her  their  fate, 
so  she  did  not  ask,  being  more  sensitive  about  these  little 
attempts  than  any  one  suspected.  Now  the  explanation 
lay  before  her  in  the  delightful  shape  of  a  crisp  fifty- 
dollar  bill. 


256  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

The  first  story,  written  before  she  had  left  home,  Jes- 
samy  had  sent  to  several  of  the  larger  magazines,  and  re- 
ceived it  back  each  time  with  a  personal  note  of  praise 
and  encouragement.  At  last  it  had  found  its  way  to  a 
magazine  with  a  larger  circulation  and  smaller  subscrip- 
tion price  than  any  of  the  others,  and  the  editor  had  not 
only  accepted  the  story,  but  told  Jessamy  he  would  take 
all  she  could  give  him  of  equal  merit ;  and  especially  re- 
quested her  to  illustrate  for  him  other  work  besides  her 
cousin's.  The  second  story  Phyllis  sent  had  been  refused, 
but  the  third  was  accepted  with  praise;  and  now  the 
money  for  both  lay  in  her  hand  to  complete  the  happi- 
ness of  her  home-coming.  It  was  not  a  great  sum— the 
magazine  would  have  paid  more  to  some  one  whose  name 
was  known;  but  Phyllis  considered  it  tremendous,  and 
felt  as  though  her  five  right-hand  fingers  had  suddenly 
been  endowed  with  the  Midas  touch. 

Jessamy  and  she  had  a  rapture  after  all  their  friends 
had  gone.  It  had  been  a  beautiful  Christmas  Day,  and 
the  very  nicest  evening  the  girls  remembered  to  have 
spent ;  but  it  was  best  of  all  to  bid  the  people  good-night, 
dear  as  many  of  them  were  to  them,  and  sit  down  alone, 
a  "square"  once  more,  at  their  "ain  fireside,"  repre- 
sented, as  Babbie  pointed  out,  by  a  gilded  steam  radi- 
ator. 

Jessamy  was  paid  ten  to  twenty  dollars  each  for  her 
illustrations.  She  and  Phyllis  hugged  each  other  in 
speechless  anticipation  of  the  wealth  that  they  were  to 
pile  up.  Yet  a  vision  of  Bobby  Shafto,  and  a  look  in  his 


WREATHING  HOLLY  AND  TWINING  BAY          257 

eyes  that  night  as  they  rested  on  the  Sleeping  Beauty, 
as  if  he  would  dearly  have  liked  the  privilege  of  waking 
her  in  the  manner  of  the  prince  in  the  story,  filled  Phyl- 
lis with  foreboding  that  their  collaboration  might  be 
short.  But  she  was  at  home  again,  and  everything 
smiled  on  their  hopes.  "A  merry  Christmas  and  a 
happy  New  Year!"  Ah,  yes,  very,  very  happy.  And 
with  that  thought  in  her  grateful  heart,  Phyllis  fell 
asleep,  with  Truce  purring  on  her  arm. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


SPOKES  FROM   THE   HUB 


OUR  days  after  New  Year's  began  a 
week  of  shut-in  weather,  the  kind  of 
days  which  drive  one  nearly  frantic, 
or  make  one  perfectly  happy,  accord- 
ing to  the  state  of  mind  in  which  they 
find  one.  The  Wyndhams,  "squared" 
once  more,  with  Phyllis  back  and  their  home  life  resumed 
with  nothing  to  mar  it,  were  in  precisely  the  perfect  con- 
tentment which  hails  with  rapture  weather  shutting  out 
the  outside  world  and  drawing  closer  together  the  in- 
side one.  The  snow  fell  steadily  for  three  days,  intermit- 
tently for  four  more ;  the  walking  was  as  bad  as  it  could 
be,  and  the  city  lay  muffled  in  stillness  that  was  hypnotic 
in  effect,  and  helped  keep  people  within  doors  who 
had  not  obligations  to  force  them  out. 

Jessamy,  Phyllis,  and  Barbara  reveled  in  the  pleasure 
of  donning  old  gowns  every  morning  and  settling  down 
to  the  achievement  of  odd  tasks  without  fear  of  inter- 
ruption, and  also  in  the  chance  to  get  talked  up  to  date 
after  half  a  year  of  absence  on  Phyllis 's  part.  There 

258 


SPOKES  FROM  THE  HUB  259 

was  an  old  chair  which  had  outlived  its  covering,  though 
in  a  melancholy  state  of  finish,  which  had  been  con- 
demned to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  refuse  gatherer  by 
all  but  Bab.  She,  fired  with  economicarzeal,  had  long 
declared  that  she  would  enamel  it  in  black,  re-cover  it, 
and  have  practically  a  new  chair  at  the  trifling  expense 
of  a  can  of  paint  and  three  quarters  of  a  yard  of  worsted 
and  linen  tapestry.  This  was  precisely  the  time  for 
which  she  had  waited,  when  an  old  sheet  could  be  spread 
on  the  parlor  rug,  and  the  chair  allowed  plenty  of  time 
to  dry,  with  no  danger  of  callers  to  be  shocked  by  the 
sight  and  sickened  by  the  odor  of  paint;  so  during  this 
"spell  of  weather,"  as  Violet  called  it,  she  began  the 
transformation  of  the  chair. 

Jessamy  had  a  dress  to  turn,  which  she  too  had  been 
waiting  to  begin  until  such  time  as  threads  on  the  floor 
would  not  matter ;  and  Phyllis  brought  out  all  the  piece- 
boxes  into  the  parlor  to  set  them  in  order  in  the  midst  of 
the  general  festive  disorder. 

Jessamy  could  never  be  seriously  disheveled,  but  she 
had  put  on  her  oldest  gown  to  do  her  ripping,  and  Phyl- 
lis was  "neat,  but  not  gaudy,"  Tom  said,  in  a  faded  pink 
shirt-waist  and  a  skirt  decidedly  worse  for  wear;  for 
boxes  were  dusty,  and  sorting  scraps  hard  on  skirt  fronts. 
Of  course  Tom  was  not  deterred  by  weather  or  bad  walk- 
ing from  dropping  in  daily  to  keep  his  eye  on  his  future 
family  and  his  particular  property  in  it.  Bab  said  that 
the  worst  of  being  engaged  to  a  young  doctor  was  that, 
having  office  hours  and  few  patients,  he  was  obliged  to 


260  THE  WYNDHAM  GIKLS 

be  out  at  certain  times  for  appearances'  sake,  and  had  no- 
where else  to  go  except  to  see  his  betrothed,  which  gave 
her  very  little  security  of  time  to  herself.  But  it  was 
quite  apparent  to  every  one  that  Babbie  did  not  object 
to  an  arrangement  which  allowed  Tom  to  drop  in  daily 
at  four  to  join  them  in  their  afternoon  tea — which  was 
usually  chocolate. 

' '  It  really  is  too  cozy  and  heavenly  to  be  real ! ' '  cried 
Phyllis,  suddenly,  looking  up  from  a  shabby  bit  of  rib- 
bon she  was  turning  every  way  in  the  gray  light  to  deter- 
mine whether  it  was  to  be  discarded  or  retained.  "It  's 
the  blessedest  sort  of  thing  to  be  busy,  and  a  trifle 
shabby,  and  all  shut  in,  with  the  world  shut  out." 

"A  good  deal  shabby,  I  should  say,"  remarked  Jes- 
samy.  "Not  that  it  matters.  It  does  seem  like  'Myself 
and  my  wife ;  my  son  John  and  his  wife ;  us  four,  and  no 
more,'  does  n't  it?" 

"I  could  purr  like  Trucie,  and  I  know  just  how  he 
feels  when  he  cuddles  down  under  the  blanket  on  cold 
nights,"  said  Phyllis.  "Cats  are  the  only  things  that 
can  express  the  kind  of  contentment  these  days  give 
me." 

"I  might  purr  if  it  were  n't  for  this  horrid  chair," 
groaned  Barbara.  ' '  I  wish  I  'd  never  touched  the  thing ! 
Girls,  that  paint  is  n't  one  minute  more  dry  than  it  was 
the  night  before  last ! ' ' 

Bab  was  a  sight  to  behold.  A  long  muslin  gown,  far 
past  its  usefulness  and  beauty,  hung  over  her  loosely, 
betraying  through  certain  rents  the  fact  that  she  wore 


SPOKES  FEOM  THE  HUB  261 

a  black  skirt  under  it.  Black  enamel  paint  stood  out  in 
bold  relief  in  great  blotches  on  its  faded  groundwork, 
black  paint  decorated  the  knuckles  and  finger-tips  of  her 
grimy  little  hands.  One  finger  was  bound  up  where  she 
had  hammered  it  black  and  blue;  for,  her  patience  ex- 
hausted waiting  for  the  paint  to  dry,  she  had  attempted 
to  cover  the  chair  while  it  was  yet  wet.  Her  hair  would 
have  qualified  her  for  Bloomingdale,  for  Bab  had  the  sort 
of  hair  which  comes  down  when  its  owner  goes  into  any 
work  in  earnest,  and  she  had  stuck  in  the  hair-pins,  hit 
or  miss  fashion— chiefly  miss— and  black  paint  adorned 
her  forehead  where  her  knuckles  had  brushed  it.  But 
worst  of  all  was  the  expression  of  rage  and  despair  grad- 
ually transforming  her  face.  The  chair  was  undeniably 
a  failure,  and  Bab  did  not  like  to  fail. 

"It  's  a  shame,  Babette.  I  would  n't  bother  with  the 
old  thing  another  minute,"  said  Jessamy,  sympatheti- 
cally. "I  don't  see  why  that  paint  does  n't  dry,  or  even 
stick  to  the  chair;  but  it  does  n't,  so  I  would  n't  get  any 
more  tired  over  it.  It  must  be  poor  paint." 

"It  is  fast  enough  anywhere  but  on  the  chair,"  said 
Barbara,  surveying  her  painted  hands,  and  not  grateful 
for  Jessamy 's  advice.  "It  dries  on  me,  and  sticks  wher- 
ever it  lights." 

"Give  it  up,  Bab;  don't  spoil  this  beautiful,  closed-in 
day  with  anything  that  worries,"  said  Phyllis.  "Oh, 
catch  Truchi-ki,  Jessamy ;  if  he  rubs  against  that  enamel 
paint,  he  and  I  will  both  have  an  awful  time  getting  it 
off  his  fur!  Is  n't  it  nice  that  you  've  learned  how  to 


262  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

turn  and  make  over  your  dresses,  Jessamy !  It  is  such  an 
economy ! ' ' 

"Jessamy  won't  admit,  even  to  herself,  that  she  does 
it  to  economize,"  laughed  Bab,  the  wrinkles  smoothing 
out  of  her  forehead  as  she  sat  back  on  the  sheet  covering 
the  floor  and  clasped  her  knees  with  her  hands.  "She 
pretends  she  makes  over  her  dresses  because  she  likes  to, 
and  regards  the  dress  when  it  is  done  as  such  a  bit  of  ele- 
gance that  she  hypnotizes  others  into  thinking  it  is  ele- 
gant. If  you  notice,  Phyl,  Jessamy  never  does  admit 
that  we  are  scrabbling  along ;  and  that  is  the  reason  she 
appears  so  much  more  high-bred  than  you  and  I  do.  We 
rather  more  than  merely  admit  that  we  consider  a  turned 
dress  less  desirable  than  a  new  one.  But  Jessamy  ignores, 
even  to  herself,  the  fact  that  the  goods  have  another  side, 
and  her  dresses  look  cloth-of-goldy  because  she  expects 
no  less  of  them.  We  pretend  to  outsiders,  but  Jessamy 
pretends  consistently,  even  to  herself,  and  that  's  why 
it  is  so  much  better  pretense." 

"Pretense!  Oh,  Bab!"  cried  Jessamy,  reproachfully; 
and  at  that  instant  the  bell  rang. 

"It  's  the  milkman  with  his  bill, ' '  said  Jessamy,  easily. 
"I  know  his  ring;  besides,  he  is  due  to-day;  Violet  has 
the  money  ready." 

It  was  the  milkman;  but  as  Violet,  having  paid  him, 
was  about  to  close  the  door,  two  tall  figures  bounded  up 
the  stairs,  and  a  breezy  masculine  voice  cried:  "One 
moment,  please.  Is  Miss  Phyllis  Wyndham  at  home?" 

"Y-es,  sah,"  stammered  Violet,  with  an  apprehen- 


SPOKES  FROM  THE  HUB  263 

sive  glance  over  her  shoulder  at  the  disordered  parlor, 
where  Bab  was  sitting  on  the  floor,  horror-stricken  at  the 
question,  and  Phyllis  was  wildly  scooping  up  an  armful 
of  bits  from  the  sofa  in  a  frantic  effort  to  flee.  But 
flight  was  impossible,  for  the  only  exit  from  the  small 
parlor  was  into  the  hall,  directly  opposite  the  door  which 
Violet  was  inhospitably  holding  partly  closed. 

"Please  give  her  these  cards,"  continued  the  voice, 
and  two  young  men  entered  with  the  serene  uncon- 
sciousness of  their  age  and  sex. 

"How  are  you,  Miss  Phyllis!"  cried  one  of  the  arri- 
vals, catching  sight  of  the  object  of  his  search  in  his  line 
of  vision,  and  utterly  oblivious  to  the  situation. 

In  spite  of  her  chagrin,  Phyllis  was  quite  honest  in  the 
cry  of  pleasure  with  which  she  recognized  him.  "Alan 
Armstrong ! ' '  she  exclaimed,  ' '  and  Mr.  Campbell !  Well, 
I  am  glad,  though  you  have  caught  us  in  a  plight.  Girls, 
these  are  my  Boston  friends.  Miss  Wyndham,  Miss 
Barbara  Wyndham— Mr.  Armstrong  and  Mr.  Camp- 
bell." 

Jessamy  arose  with  the  grace  of  the  princess  they 
called  her.  It  really  did  not  matter  whether  Jessamy 
was  in  rags  or  velvets  while  she  wore  her  beautiful 
manner. 

"You  can't  imagine  how  glad  we  are  to  see  those  who 
made  dear  Phyllis  happy  while  she  was  away  from 
home,"  Jessamy  said  with  simple  graciousness.  "It  is 
so  good  of  you  to  come  all  the  way  up -town  in  this  bad 
weather !  We  felt  sure  no  one  would  be  kind  enough  to 


264  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

come  to  see  us  to-day,  so  we  got  out  all  sorts  of  disagree- 
able work;  but  you  won't  mind  disorder,  I  'm  sure." 

"We  can't  see  it,"  said  Alan,  thinking  privately  Jes- 
samy  was  the  loveliest  girl  he  had  ever  seen,  and  that  it 
was  quite  true  that  no  one  would  waste  a  glance  on  a 
room  when  she  was  in  it. 

"If  I  had  known  you  were  coming  I  would  have 
painted  my  face  more  artfully,"  said  Bab,  really  very 
much  embarrassed  as  she  thought  with  horror  of  the  mus- 
lin wrapper  covering  her  gown,  her  fly-away  hair,  and 
her  bedaubed  hands  and  face. 

"I  should  think  it  likely  Alan  or  David  Campbell 
could  tell  you  why  your  chair  won't  dry,  Babbie,"  said 
Phyllis,  trying  to  help  her  out.  "My  cousin  has  been 
trying  to  repair  this  rocker,  and  she  has  hammered  her 
finger  sore  covering  it,  and  the  paint  sticks  to  everything 
but  the  wood ;  why  is  that  ? ' ' 

"I  can't  explain  the  hammering,"  said  Alan,  "but  I 
suspect  the  trouble  with  the  chair  is  that  the  wood  was 
oily  when  you  painted  it.  There  is  always  a  deposit  of 
oil  from  hands  on  chair-arms.  If  you  had  washed  it 
in  an  alkali  before  you  began,  it  would  have  been  all 
right." 

' '  Perhaps  I  would  better  try  your  prescription  on  my- 
self," said  Barbara.  "Though  I  am  afraid  nothing 
but  a  turpentine  bath  will  do  for  me.  It  is  too  late  to 
help  the  chair,  is  n't  it?  If  you  will  forget  you  met  me 
in  this  guise,  I  '11  come  back  in  a  few  moments  and  let  you 
be  introduced  to  Phyllis 's  respectable  cousin  Barbara." 


SPOKES  FROM  THE  HUB  265 

"It  is  too  late  to  do  anything  with  the  chair,  I  'm 
afraid,  but  we  don't  want  to  forget  we  have  met  you," 
said  Alan,  rising  to  open  the  door  for  Bab  with  such 
politeness  that  she  said  afterward  he  "made  her  feel  as 
neat  and  nice  as  if  he  had  been  a  paint-eraser." 

"Call  Violet  to  take  away  the  chair;  tell  her  to  send 
it  down  to  the  janitor,  and  fold  up  this  sheet  on  the 
floor,  Bab,"  said  Jessamy.  "I  always  did  suspect  the 
women's  corners  in  papers  that  tell  one  how  to  make 
toilet-tables  and  chairs  out  of  old  barrels  or  packing- 
cases.  Bab  has  spent  three  days  struggling  with  this 
chair,  only  to  throw  it  away  at  last." 

' '  One  of  the  New  York  papers  had  a  burlesque  House- 
hold Department  once,"  said  Alan,  as  he  closed  the  door 
behind  Bab,  and  turned  to  help  Phyllis  tie  up  her  boxes. 
"Among  other  things,  it  told  the  gentle  reader  never  to 
throw  away  her  cold  buckwheat  cakes— that  they  made  a 
lovely  dado  glued  at  irregular  intervals  on  blue  denim, 
or,  used  in  the  same  way,  were  most  artistic  as  a  portiere 
border.  I  always  think  of  it  when  I  read  these  crazy 
directions  for  making  furniture  out  of  coal-hods  and 
things.  Look  here ;  why  do  you  all  put  away  your  work, 
Miss  Phyllis?  You  '11  make  Heather  and  me  feel  our- 
selves nuisances. ' ' 

"We  were  only  doing  these  things  for  want  of  better 
interests, ' '  said  Phyllis.  "  I  'd  like  to  show  you  my  little 
home  looking  respectable.  I  've  told  you  so  much  of  how 
it  came  to  be.  Do  you  still  call  David  Heather?  That 
was  Rick's  name  for  him.  And  you  need  not  call  me 


266  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

Miss  Phyllis  here,  any  more  than  in  Boston.  We  are  all 
going  to  be  informal  friends." 

' '  There  's  Tom ! ' '  exclaimed  Jessamy,  as  the  bell  rang 
twice,  and  twice  again,  with  a  short  pause  between,  and 
sprang  to  open  the  door  for  the  doctor. 

"How  is  everything  to-day,  Jessamy?  Where  's  Bab? 
What  is  this— company?"  added  Tom,  lowering  his 
voice,  but  to  a  no  less  audible  key. 

"Mr.  Armstrong,  Mr.  Campbell— Dr.  Leighton,"  said 
Jessamy,  ushering  Tom  into  the  room;  "  Phyllis 's  Boston 
friends,  you  know,  Tom.  And  Nixie, ' '  she  added,  as  the 
little  dog  followed,  shaking  off  the  snow. 

' '  Glad  to  see  you, ' '  said  Tom,  with  cordial  hand-grasps 
to  each.  "Here  's  my  little  lady,"  he  added,  turning 
joyfully  to  meet  Bab  transformed  into  her  pretty  self, 
though  black  paint  still  surmounted  her  knuckles.  Jes- 
samy took  the  opportunity  to  slip  out  for  like  improve- 
ments, and  Tom  cried :  ' '  Guess  what  's  happened,  Bab ! 
I  was  called  in  for  croup  to  the  millionaire  baby  on  the 
corner,  and  delighted  the  family  by  my  skill;  relieved 
the  choking  heir  at  once— that  's  not  a  pun;  I  did  n't 
mean  choking  air !  Only  think !  And  there  are  five  mil- 
lionaire offspring  in  the  family,  not  one  of  whom  has  had 
a  single  childish  disease;  the  mother  told  me  so!  Sup- 
pose I  should  get  that  practice ! ' ' 

"Hope  you  will,  I  'm  sure.  Phyllis  told  us  about  you, 
and  your  other  prospects,"  said  Alan,  glancing  at  Bar- 
bara, who  was  gazing  proudly  at  Tom. 

"The   door-bell   again!"   cried   Phyllis,    as   it   rang. 


SPOKES  FROM  THE  HUB  267 

"That  's  Ruth's  ring."  And  she  opened  the  door  to 
their  friend. 

"Such  walking,  Phyl!  But  I  had  to  come.  I  have 
sat  over  my  embroidery  without  a  breath  of  air  for  five 
days,  and  I  was  nearly  wild.  Is  it  a  party  ? ' '  added  Ruth, 
stopping  suddenly  as  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  parlor. 

"It  is  rather  a  good  imitation  of  one  for  such  wea- 
ther, ' '  laughed  Phyllis.  ' '  My  friends  from  Boston,  who, 
I  told  you,  were  to  be  in  New  York  this  winter,  are  come, 
and  Tom  is  here;  that  is  all.  Here  are  Jessamy  and 
auntie.  I  'm  going  to  make  myself  presentable  now; 
you  go  in  with  them." 

"Your  friends  have  consented  to  stay  to  tea,  Phyllis; 
and  Ruth  will  stay  all  night,"  said  Mrs.  Wyndham,  as 
Phyllis  came  back,  looking  sweet  and  fresh  in  her  gray 
crepon.  "We  are  going  to  have  a  real  stormy-night 
good  time,  though  I  've  no  idea  of  what  we  shall  find  for 
supper. ' ' 

"Supper  does  not  matter,"  said  David  Campbell, 
crossing  to  Phyllis 's  side.  "I  have  been  waiting  to  show 
you  a  bit  of  pebble  my  sister  sent  over  to  me.  I  asked 
her  if  she  would  let  me  have  it  for  you.  It  came  from  the 
bank  of  Loch  Leven." 

"Oh,  that  was  ever  so  kind  of  you!"  cried  Phyllis, 
gratefully,  really  pleased  with  the  thought  for  her  the 
lame  lad  showed.  "I  always  loved  poor  Mary  Stuart; 
I  hope  you  don't  think  her  bad?" 

"Bad!"  echoed  David,  with  the  emphasis  of  a  Scots- 
man. "Her  conduct  may  have  been  somewhat  erro- 


268  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

neous,  but  she  was  brought  up  in  an  evil  court,  and  was 
but  a  young  bit  lassie  when  she  came  to  her  own,  and  too 
beautiful  to  be  left  to  wicked  counselors.  But  bad! 
She  was  never  that,  you  know." 

"I  am  sure  she  was  n't,  for  I  always  was  too  sorry  for 
her  not  to  judge  her  partially;  I  shall  prize  this  little 
stone,  thinking  her  weary  feet  may  have  trodden  it," 
said  Phyllis. 

"That  's  not,  so  to  say,  possible,"  said  honest  Davy; 
' '  for  most  like  the  pebbles  that  were  on  the  surface  three 
hunger  years  ago  are  buried  now.  It  's  juist  a  memento, 
no  mair." 

' '  Ah,  well ;  it  will  do  no  harm  to  dream  about  it, ' '  said 
Phyllis.  ' '  I  shall  want  you  to  tell  me  all  your  plans  after 
supper.  Now  we  must  all  go  to  work.  Alan,  you  are  to 
make  the  coffee  as  you  did  on  the  yacht." 

"I  had  an  aunt,"  Ruth  was  saying  to  Alan  at  that 
moment,  and  Alan  did  not  hear  Phyllis  as  she  spoke — "I 
had  an  aunt  who  married  an  Armstrong.  That  is,  she 
was  my  mother's  sister-in-law;  her  husband  was  For- 
dyce  Armstrong,  and  he  lived  in  Boston." 

"He  was  my  father's  cousin,"  said  Alan,  surprised. 
"Is  n't  that  odd!  Your  aunt-in-law  married  my  second 
cousin.  What  relation  are  we  then,  Miss  Wells?  Phyl- 
lis, Phyllis,  your  friend  and  I  are  relations  of  some  sort ; 
come,  unsnarl  us.  Oh,  never  mind,  though;  we  are 
cousins  too ;  that  's  a  nice,  elastic  relationship,  anyway. ' ' 

Mrs.  Wyndham  brought  out  the  chafing-dish,  and  Jes- 
samy  took  it  in  charge.  Jessamy  was  getting  more  and 


SPOKES  FROM  THE  HUB  269 

more  into  the  way  of  slipping  into  vacancies  and  smooth- 
ing out  possible  complications  in  the  tiny  home.  Bab 
was  very  occupied  being  engaged,  and  Phyllis  was  throw- 
ing herself  increasingly  into  her  hopes  and  work. 

The  supper  was  a  success.  It  was  settled  that  no  one 
should  get  anything  from  outside;  but  Welsh  rabbit  in 
the  chafing-dish,  toast,  cold  meat,  coffee,  Bab's  fresh 
cake,  preserves,  the  result  of  Jessamy's  proud  first  effort 
in  that  very  feminine,  old-time  accomplishment  of  "put- 
ting up"  fruit — going  out  of  fashion  since  women's  ex- 
changes and  fancy  groceries  make  canned  goods  so  easily 
purchasable— all  these  things,  brought  forth  from  the 
little  pantry,  made  a  supper  fit  for  a  king,  breaking  up 
even  David's  silence  into  merriment. 

When  the  feast  was  over,  and  the  young  people  once 
more  back  in  the  little  parlor,  leaving  Mrs.  Wyndham 
with  Violet  to  straighten  matters  in  the  kitchen,  the  bell 
rang  again,  stopping  Barbara's  accompaniment  to  a 
college  song  which  they  were  all  getting  ready  to 
sing. 

"Is  n't  it  funny  how  people  keep  coming  when  we  felt 
so  sure  of  a  solitary  day  1 ' '  said  Phyllis,  as  she  went  un- 
ceremoniously to  open  the  door  herself.  It  was  Robert 
Lane  whom  she  ushered  in  with  more  constraint  of  man- 
ner than  she  had  shown  the  other  visitors.  Only  Jes- 
samy  felt  well  acquainted  with  the  young  lawyer 

Robert  contrived  to  get  Jessamy  to  himself  for  a  brief 
but  apparently  earnest  conversation  under  the  cover  of 
the  singing ;  and  the  little  party  broke  up  early,  after  a 

17 


270  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

few  songs  had  been  sung  by  what  Tom  called  "the  in- 
vested choir. ' ' 

Barbara  bore  off  Ruth  to  share  her  bed.  Jessamy 
called  back  Phyllis,  who  was  following  them,  stopping 
herself  to  turn  off  the  gas.  "Phyl,"  she  said,  "do  you 
know  why  Mr.  Lane  came  here  to-night?" 

"Apparently  to  see  you,"  returned  Phyllis.  "He 
hardly  noticed  any  one  else." 

"Yes;  but  it  was  to  tell  me  something  particular," 
said  Jessamy,  with  the  suspicion  of  a  blush  in  the  dim 
light.  He  thinks— oh,  Phyl,  he  really  thinks  that  the 
information  he  has  in  regard  to  Mr.  Abbott 's  actions  two 
years  ago  is  going  to  get  us  back  some  of  our  money ;  and 
he  says  Mr.  Hurd  thinks  so  too.  Is  n  't  it  fine  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  Jessamy,  would  n't  I  be  thankful!  But  not  for 
my  own  sake,"  added  Phyllis,  hastily.  "Mr.  Lane  seems 
to  be  very  nice,  Amy." 

"So  are  both  your  friends  very  nice,  Phyllis,"  re- 
turned Jessamy,  turning  out  the  gas,  as  she  spoke,  so 
Phyllis  could  not  see  her  face. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   LADY   OF   THE   SCALES 

£HILE  Phyllis  was  climbing  the  steep 
hill  of  fame  by  the  path  of  her  little 
stories,  events  in  her  home  were  not 
at  a  standstill. 

The  pleasantest  and  most  tangible 
thing  that  had  happened  was  that 
Jessamy  had  been  asked  by  the  editor  of  the  magazine 
which  had  bought  her  illustrations  and  Phyllis 's  two  sto- 
ries, to  illustrate  for  him  other  work  besides  that  done 
by  her  cousin. 

Jessamy  was  very  busy  and  happy  during  these  days. 
She  was  blossoming  out  into  fuller,  more  perfect  beauty ; 
her  eyes  were  alight  as  with  a  secret  joy,  her  smile  grew 
every  day  sweeter  and  more  lingering;  in  a  word,  Jes- 
samy was  leaving  the  last  shadow  of  that  mysterious 
valley  of  young  maidenhood,  and  passing  into  the  full 
sunshine  of  womanhood.  It  was  two  years  since  the 
trouble,  which  was  every  day  less  of  a  regret  to  the 
Wyndhams,  had  come  to  them ;  or,  it  would  be  two  years 
when  May  rolled  around  again,  and  it  was  then  March. 

271 


272  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

Jessamy  and  Phyllis  were  twenty;  they  had  a  right  to 
enter  upon  their  kingdom.  Barbara,  too,  at  nineteen 
and  engaged,  was  grown  up.  Mrs.  Wyndham,  with  the 
gratitude  of  a  mother  who  had  brought  her  children 
safely  through  the  development  of  character  into  sweet 
and  good  women,  yet  with  the  regret  of  a  mother  in  los- 
ing her  little  girls,  realized  that  her  three  little  maids 
were  little  no  longer. 

It  was  March,  and  the  season  was  forward  after  the 
heavy  snows  of  the  winter.  The  song-sparrow  was  lilting 
in  the  park,  the  twigs  and  buds  were  showing  red  and 
swelling  on  many  trees  and  shrubs. 

There  had  been,  of  late,  mystery  in  the  atmosphere  of 
the  little  apartment,  from  share  in  which  Mrs.  Wynd- 
ham felt  herself  excluded.  Evidently  the  girls  were  in 
a  conspiracy  of  some  sort ;  but  their  mother  did  not  give 
the  matter  much  thought,  knowing  that  when  they  were 
ready  they  would  confide  in  her,  and  feeling  quite  certain 
if  she  were  not  told  it  was  because  the  plan  worked  better 
for  her  in  ignorance  of  it. 

Robert  Lane  came  and  went  frequently,  and  Mrs. 
Wyndham  watched  him  with  the  jealousy  of  a  strong 
suspicion  that  he  was  finding  her  beautiful  elder  daugh- 
ter attractive.  But,  watch  as  she  would,  she  could  not 
discover  anything  in  the  young  lawyer  which  did  not 
make  her  like  him  better  as  she  grew  to  know  him  well. 
Jessamy  and  he — indeed,  all  three  girls  and  be- 
seemed to  have  an  understanding  which  Mrs.  Wynd- 
ham learned  to  associate  with  the  secret  in  the  air;  but 


THE  LADY  OF   THE   SCALES  273 

she  could  not  determine  whether  Jessamy  was  growing 
to  care  for  Robert  in  the  way  he  was  unmistakably  learn- 
ing to  care  for  her.  Mrs.  Wyndham 's  watchfulness  of 
Jessamy  was  divided  with  Phyllis.  Alan  haunted  the 
apartment,  and  there  was  no  mistaking  the  dumb  affec- 
tion for  Phyllis  in  his  eyes,  as  faithful  as  a  dog's,  and 
less  reticent  of  speech  than  his  newly  silent  tongue. 
Phyllis,  happy,  busy,  interested  to  try  her  powers, 
showed  no  fejeling  for  Alan  beyond  the  frank  friendli- 
ness she  gave  all  their  young  men  friends  impartially, 
Tom,  Robert,  and  David,  and  to  distant  Rick  Dean, 
whose  letters  grew  constantly  more  frequent  and  warmer 
in  tone.  Mrs.  Wyndham  began  to  wonder  if  Phyllis  were 
the  sort  of  girl  who  is  so  cordially  kindly  to  all  boys  that 
no  especial  one  becomes  important  to  her.  She  felt  sure 
that  if,  by  and  by,  her  niece  could  not  return  to  Alan  all 
that  he  was  pouring  out  on  her,  it  would  be  more  tragic 
to  the  loyal-hearted  and  earnest  young  journalist  than 
unrequited  affection  is  likely  to  be  to  youths  of  his  age. 

However,  girls  were  proverbially  uncertain  and  hard 
to  read.  Mrs.  Wyndham  was  too  wise  to  worry  over  a 
contingency  not  yet  arisen.  She  saw  with  pleasure  that 
David  Campbell  was  finding  little  Ruth  decidedly  to  his 
liking.  There  could  not  have  been  a  better  happening 
for  them  both.  David  was  an  earnest,  honest,  manly 
boy,  and  Ruth  would  be  the  very  best  little  housewife 
a  man  could  ask.  Mrs.  Wyndham  hoped  that  nothing 
would  divert  the  course  of  the  romance  dawning  in  that 
direction. 


274  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

''It  is'such  a  nice,  quiet  time  now,  mama,  with  Phyllis 
settled  down  again  to  private  life,  and  no  especial  work 
on  hand;  let  's  ask  Aunt  Henrietta  to  spend  the  day," 
said  Jessamy  one  morning  in  that  eventful  March. 

Bab  groaned,  and  even  Phyllis  looked  downcast. 
"Oh,  dear,  it  's  awful  to  have  a  sense  of  duty,"  sighed 
Bab.  ' '  What  does  make  you  so  dreadfully  conscientious, 
Jessamy  ? ' ' 

"It  is  n't  such  a  tremendous  proof  of  conscientious- 
ness," Jessamy  began;  but  her  mother  said: 

' '  It  is  exactly  what  I  have  been  meaning  to  suggest  for 
some  time.  We  have  scarcely  seen  anything  of  aunt  all 
winter,  and  we  owe  her  attention;  she  is  growing  old." 

' '  She  is  n  't  growing  old,  Madrina ;  you  know  that.  She 
always  was  old ;  but  she  does  n 't  mean  to  admit  it,  nor  let 
it  increase,"  said  Bab.  "Well,  I  suppose  I  can  main- 
tain my  portion  of  family  virtue.  Write  your  note,  Jes- 
samy-Griselda,  the  patient  and  heroic. ' ' 

Aunt  Henrietta  accepted  the  invitation,  which  was  for 
three  days  later,  and  appeared  at  half-past  twelve  pre- 
cisely, in  all  the  dignity  of  a  stiff  black  silk,  her  old- 
fashioned  heavy  gold  watch-chain  with  the  seals,  and  a 
high  tortoise-shell  comb  which  had  been  her  mother's. 
She  no  more  held  to  the  idea  of  ladies  of  her  age  wear- 
ing even  so  much  as  a  widow's  cap  than  she  did  to  the 
absurdity  of  arriving  ten  minutes  before  luncheon. 
Half  an  hour,  she  declared,  was  not  too  long  to  rest  after 
reaching  her  destination  before  sitting  down  to  the  table. 
It  was  ridiculous  to  come  barely  in  time  to  lay  off  one's 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  SCALES  275 

things.  Hence  she  arrived  at  her  niece's  apartment 
thirty  minutes  before  the  hour  for  lunch,  and  before  the 
girls  had  had  time  to  get  ready  to  greet  her.  The  Wynd- 
hams  believed  that  it  was  impossible  for  one  servant  to 
do  everything,  and  do  it  well ;  so  when  there  was  to  be  a 
guest  in  the  little  home,  Jessamy,  Phyllis,  and  Bab  took 
their  share  of  the  preparations. 

"You  've  been  getting  a  new  rug  for  your  dining- 
room,"  said  Aunt  Henrietta,  in  the  tone  of  disap- 
proval which  she  kept  "for  family  use,"  as  Bab  said. 

"Yes;  that  is  Phyllis 's  contribution  to  our  comfort. 
She  bought  it  with  her  'Trumpet'  money,"  replied  Mrs. 
Wyndham,  mildly.  "The  old  one  we  took  for  Bab's 
room ;  her  carpet  was  worn  out. ' ' 

"The  idea  of  a  girl  who  pretends  to  be  a  lady,  a 
Wyndham,  working  for  a  horrible  newspaper!"  ex- 
claimed Aunt  Henrietta.  "How  do  you  get  on  now, 
Emily?  You  seem  to  be  branching  out."  The  last  re- 
mark being  called  forth  by  the  old  lady's  discovery  of  a 
picture  which  she  had  not  seen  before  between  the  dining- 
room  windows. 

"  It  is  fortunate  Violet  is  not  an  ordinary  servant,  and 
that  we  don't  mind  her  hearing  these  things!"  thought 
Mrs.  Wyndham,  but  she  replied  aloud:  "We  have 
enough  to  live  on,  you  know,  aunt.  Of  course  we  must 
look  after  the  pennies  closely ;  but  with  care  we  have  all 
we  absolutely  need,  and  the  girls  have  added  consider- 
ably to  our  income.  Jessamy  and  Phyllis  have  great 
reason  to  rejoice  in  their  success  with  their  magazine 


276  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

work,  especially  when  one  considers  how  many  are  rush- 
ing into  that  field." 

' '  So  Barbara  is  the  only  drone  1 ' '  said  Aunt  Henrietta. 
"No,  no  potatoes;  my  doctor  forbids  them.  It  is  often 
the  one  who  says  most  who  does  least. ' ' 

"Barbara  is  far  from  a  drone,  Aunt  Henrietta,"  said 
Phyllis,  seeing  Bab  fold  her  lips  with  a  look  at  once  an- 
gry and  hurt.  "There  has  to  be  one  to  help  with  the 
housekeeping.  Bab  is  the  most  competent  little  person 
you  could  imagine,  and  is  so  lively  and  cheery  she  keeps 
us  all  up  to  the  mark." 

"Humph!"  ejaculated  Aunt  Henrietta,  with  a  world 
of  significance  in  the  sound.  "Take  away  that  dread- 
ful cat.  I  always  detested  cats!  How  people  can  keep 
animals  in  such  a  limited  space  I  can't  conceive.  When 
are  you  to  be  married,  Barbara ;  or  will  that  young  man 
you  are  engaged  to  ever  be  able  to  support  you?" 

"Next  fall,  if  Doctor  Leighton  has  his  wish,"  said 
Bab,  while  Phyllis  gathered  up  Truce,  and  bore  him, 
surprised  and  indignant,  from  the  room,  where,  as  every- 
where, he  was  used  to  being  considered  an  acquisition. 
"Doctor  Leighton  expects  to  be  able  to  support  me.  He 
would  not  have  asked  me  to  marry  him,  otherwise." 
Barbara  disdained  reminding  her  aunt  that  Tom  was 
heir  to  a  very  good  inheritance.  It  would  have  been  so 
unbearable  if  even  Aunt  Henrietta,  for  whose  opinion 
in  general  she  had  little  regard,  looked  on  her  marriage 
from  a  mercenary  point  of  view. 

"Very  probably.    He  seems  to  be  a  very  nice  young 


THE  LADY  OF   THE  SCALES  277 

man,"  said  Aunt  Henrietta,  to  the  surprise  of  Barbara, 
who  was  ready  to  do  battle  for  her  lover.  But  Aunt 
Henrietta  was  more  lenient  in  her  judgment  of  boys  than 
of  girls. 

The  luncheon  passed  off  with  no  further  passage  at 
arms,  and  Aunt  Henrietta  settled  herself  comfortably 
to  slow  knitting  in  the  best  chair  in  the  parlor,  and  to 
conversation  with  her  niece-in-law.  The  girls  were  un- 
mistakably " fidgety,"  as  Aunt  Henrietta  protestingly 
remarked.  A  note  had  come  for  Jessamy  during  lunch. 
She  had  read  it  with  quickened  breath,  and  conveyed  it 
to  the  other  two  slyly,  when  opportunity  offered.  The 
effect  on  all  three  had  been  disturbing.  Bab  flitted  about 
from  room  to  room,  finding  it  impossible  to  keep  still. 
And,  while  Phyllis  had  greater  nervous  control  of  her- 
self, her  answers  to  remarks  addressed  to  her  were  so 
wide  of  the  mark  that  Aunt  Henrietta  commented  on  it 
severely,  and  her  Aunt  Wyndham  kindly  let  her  alone. 

As  to  Jessamy,  her  cheeks  were  burning,  her  eyes  so 
bright  that  Aunt  Henrietta,  looking  at  her  attentively, 
prescribed:  "Six  drops  of  number  three  aconite  in  a 
half-glass  of  water,  and  take  one  teaspoonful  every  hour. 
You  are  certainly  feverish,  child,"  she  added.  Jes- 
samy's  beauty  had  made  her  Aunt  Henrietta's  favorite 
from  her  childhood. 

At  half-past  four,  just  after  Aunt  Henrietta  had  rolled 
up  her  work  preparatory  to  taking  her  afternoon  tea 
before  setting  out  homeward— "You  live  at  such  an 
unearthly  distance  from  civilization, ' '  she  said,  as  though 


278  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

the  Wyndhams  were  selfishly  inconsiderate  of  every- 
thing but  their  own  pleasure  in  living  so  far  up-town 
and  seeking  low  rent— just  at  half-past  four  the  bell 
rang,  and  Mrs.  Wyndham  met  at  the  door  Robert  Lane, 
looking  so  excited,  entering  with  such  a  quick  step,  and 
with  such  flashing  eyes,  that  he  hardly  seemed  to  be  him- 
self, and  brought  with  him  instantly  an  electric  at- 
mosphere. 

"What  has  happened  to  you,  Mr.  Lane?"  asked  Mrs. 
Wyndham.  "You  know  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Hewlett?  You 
look  as  though  some  one  had  made  you  heir  to  a  for- 
tune." 

"Not  a  bad  guess,  Mrs.  Wyndham,"  said  Robert,  tak- 
ing the  extended  hand.  ' '  I  have  as  good  news  as  that  to 
tell  you.  I  honestly  believe  I  like  it  better  than  a  for- 
tune for  myself. ' ' 

"Then  it  is  all  right?  He  came  to  terms?"  cried 
Bab,  while  Jessamy  and  Phyllis,  knowing  the  answer 
before  it  was  given,  dropped,  quite  pale  with  joy,  on  the 
sofa,  their  arms  holding  each  other  tight. 

"All  right,  little  lady.  The  check  is  here,"  cried 
Robert,  jubilantly,  slapping  himself  on  the  breast. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  turned  pale.  Even  Aunt  Henrietta 
began  to  tremble.  "May  we  know  what  you  are  talking 
about,  young  man?"  she  said  sternly.  "Evidently  the 
girls  have  the  advantage  of  us." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Wyndham,"  Robert  began,  "it  is  a 
rather  long  story ;  the  beginning  dates  back  to  the  winter 
before  last,  when  I  was  first  graduated  from  the  law 
school,  and  had  a  desk  in  one  of  Mr.  Abbott 's  offices. ' ' 


A   BEARER  OF   GOOD   TIDINGS. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  SCALES  281 

At  the  mention  of  that  fateful  name  Mrs.  "VVyndham 
sat  erect,  clasping  tight  the  arms  of  her  chair.  "Mr. 
Abbott?"  she  whispered. 

"Precisely;  the  Abbott  who  robbed  you,"  said  Rob- 
ert, nodding  emphatically.  "At  the  time  I  was  fre- 
quently asked  to  witness  his  signature  to  papers ;  among 
others  were  three  deeds  of  transfer.  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  their  contents,  not  reading  them  in  detail,  of  course, 
but  I  saw  enough  to  know  they  were  transfer  deeds  for 
certain  property  held  by  Mr.  Abbott  in  his  own  name. 
He  made  it  over  to  his  wife.  The  dates  of  those  deeds  I 
remembered — I  have  a  good  memory  for  dates,  always 
had.  The  first  was  signed  on  my  own  birthday,  Decem- 
ber seventh;  the  second,  on  January  third,  the  day  on 
which  a  chum  of  mine,  whose  birthday  I  have  always 
kept  by  dining  with  him,  was  born ;  the  third  was  signed 
the  day  before  Washington 's  birthday,  and  I  had  to  wit- 
ness it  with  my  coat  on,  ready  to  start  out  of  town  for  the 
holiday— so  I  was  prepared  to  swear  to  all  three  dates 
with  absolute  certainty.  At  the  time  there  were  many 
things  which  led  me  to  suspect  that  Mr.  Abbott  was  not 
all  one's  fancy  paints  an  honest  man,  but  I  was  not 
called  upon  to  meddle  in  his  affairs,  merely  renting  desk- 
room  of  him  as  I  did.  But  the  following  spring,  when 
I  heard  of  the  failure  of  the  Wyndham  Corporation, 
and  that  your  family  had  lost  everything,  practically, 
while  Abbott  was  still  prosperous,  I  began  to  think  seri- 
ously. A  year  ago  I  met  Miss  Jessamy,  and  I— I  thought 
such  a— I  thought— why,  it  seemed  a  shame,  don't  you 


282  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

know,  that  she  should  be  deprived  of  anything,  when 
nothing  was  good—  '  Robert  broke  off,  much  em- 
barrassed. 

"And  you  tried  to  help  us?"  suggested  Mrs.  Wynd- 
ham;  while  Aunt  Henrietta  looked  sharply  from  blush- 
ing Jessamy  to  the  no  less  crimson  young  lawyer. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Robert,  gratefully.  "I  went  to  Mr. 
Hurd  and  told  him  what  I  knew  about  that  rascal  having 
put  his  property  out  of  his  hands  when  the  company  was 
already  involved  and  he  could  not  legally  do  so.  Mr. 
Hurd  jumped  at  the  information.  'Young  man,'  he  said, 
'  you  may  be  the  very  witness  we  needed  to  establish  what 
we  were  all  morally  certain  of,  yet  could  never  prove.' 
Then  I  spoke  to  Mrs.  Van  Alyn — no,  I  had  already 
spoken  to  her  before  I  met  Miss  Jessamy.  I  forgot — I  had 
seen  Jessamy  when  I  began  to  act,  but  had  not  met  her. 
Mrs.  Van  Alyn  said  you  ought  not  to  be  told  until  we 
were  certain,  because  you  were  too  delicate  to  be  upset 
on  a  possibly  false  clue.  So  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  asked  Jes- 
samy— Miss  Wyndham— to  meet  me  at  her  house,  and  she 
gave  me  all  the  information  necessary  to  proceed  on. 
We  have  been  at  work  ever  since,  more  or  less.  You 
were  not  told,  for  it  proved  unnecessary;  Mr.  Hurd 
having  power  of  attorney  for  you.  Abbott  is  a  sly 
cur;  we  could  n't  establish  illegal  transfers  beyond  the 
deeds  I  witnessed,  though  it  is  absolutely  certain  he  made 
others.  However,  those  amounted  to  forty  thousand 
dollars.  Mr.  Hurd  and  I  proved  to  him  that  we  could— 
and  there  was  n't  much  doubt  Mr.  Hurd  would— sue  him 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  SCALES          283 

for  that  amount,  and  not  only  get  it,  but  a  pretty  tidy 
sum  would  be  out  of  his  pocket  for  costs.  The  old  rascal 
hated  to  disgorge,  but  he  wanted  to  economize  on  his  res- 
titution, and  handing  over  forty  thousand  to  Mr.  Hurd 
was  cheaper  than  meeting  the  suit.  So  Mr.  Hurd  got  his 
check  for  that  amount— it  's  certified— and  he  let  me 
bring  it  up  to  you,  and  tell  you  the  story,  like  the  trump 
he  is,  because  he  is  good  enough  to  say  the  recovery  came 
through  me.  Mrs.  Wyndham,  here  is  forty  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  if  you  are  as  glad  as  I  am  about  it  you  are  a 
pretty  happy  woman." 

So  saying,  and  with  a  decided  choke  in  his  voice, 
Robert  laid  a  certified  check  on  Mrs.  Wyndham 's  knee, 
and  dropped  silently  back  in  his  chair. 

Not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness  of  the  room  for  a  few 
moments,  then  Aunt  Henrietta  electrified  the  company. 
Without  a  word,  she  arose  to  her  full  stately  height, 
walked  slowly  over  to  where  Robert  sat,  put  both  arms 
around  him,  and  kissed  him  soundly,  with  a  kiss  that 
resounded.  "You  are  a  second  Daniel  Webster,"  she 
said,  and  solemnly  resumed  her  seat. 

Nothing  better  could  have  happened.  Aunt  Henri- 
etta had  relieved  the  tension  of  a  moment  that  was  in 
danger  of  becoming  hysterical.  Following  her  aunt-in- 
law's  example,  though  with  a  difference,  Mrs.  Wynd- 
ham took  both  of  Robert's  hands,  the  tears  of  joy  run- 
ning down  her  cheeks.  "I  can't  thank  you,  my  dear," 
she  said  simply.  "I  doubt  your  wanting  me  to;  but  I 
shall  never,  never  forget  that  we  owe  it  to  you  that  even 


284  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

this  portion  of  our  lost  property  is  restored.  And  to  us, 
who  have  been  taught  the  lesson  of  economy  so  sharply, 
forty  thousand  dollars  will  be  a  large  sum." 

Jessamy,  Phyllis,  and  Bab  were  crying  softly,  but  their 
faces  were  flushed  with  joy  and  bright  with  smiles. 
"Oh,  here  's  Tom!"  cried  Bab,  as  she  always  did  when 
she  heard  Tom's  peculiar  ring,  and  ran  to  the  door  to 
bring  him  in. 

' '  Hallo,  Bob,  old  man !  I  see  you  've  got  it ! "  cried 
Tom,  the  instant  he  entered  and  saw  the  April  faces. 
"Well,  talk  about  special  providences;  was  n't  it  about 
the  neatest  bit  of  good  fortune  you  ever  knew  that  you 
should  have  witnessed  those  deeds,  and  had  your  desk  in 
old  Abbott's  office?  And  I  believe  you  '11  get  your  re- 
ward, too,"  he  added  for  Robert's  ear  alone.  "Leave  it 
to  me,  and  I  '11  manage  the  others— give  you  a  chance. 
I  tell  you,  Mother  Wyndham,  I  'm  tremendously  glad. 
Now  it  's  over,  and  you  know  the  whole  story,  I  '11 
tell  you  that  my  engagement  to  Bab  depended  on  the 
recovery  of  this  money.  If  it  had  n't  been  captured  I 
should  have  broken  it  off — I  would  n't  marry  a  girl  with- 
out a  little  fortune." 

"She  has  n't  married  you  yet,  sir,  that  girl-with-a-for- 
tune,  so  you  'd  better  not  be  too  sure  of  her.  I  may  use 
my  share  of  the  forty  thousand  to  go  off  to  fashionable 
watering-places  this  summer,  and  invest  in  a  little 
French  title  attached  to  a  little  French  man, ' '  said  Bab, 
saucily,  so  saucily  that  Aunt  Henrietta  said  severely: 

"Barbara,  such  jests  are  not  seemly." 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  SCALES  285 

"Now,  Mother  Wyndham,"  continued  Tom,  "are  n't 
you  going  to  treat  on  the  joyful  occasion?  In  default 
of  champagne  and  grouse,  I  propose  a  Welsh  rabbit  in  the 
chafing-dish,  and  anything  else  to  be  found ;  and,  as  Jes- 
samy  is  the  chief  conspirator  of  the  family,  the  one  who 
got  into  the  plot  first,  I  think  she  ought  to  make  it.  Go 
out  to  the  kitchen,  Princess,  please,  and  make  us  a 
rabbit." 

"Violet  is  out,"  began  Mrs.  Wyndham,  hesitating. 

"Splendid!"  said  Tom  the  artful,  who  had  remem- 
bered this  fact  when  he  spoke.  "Violet  is  no  good  at 
rabbits.  Please  be  nice,  Jessamy,  and  make  it." 

"Of  course  I  will,"  said  Jessamy,  rising. 

"Maybe  some  one  will  help  you,"  continued  Tom,  a 
hand  on  Phyllis 's  and  Bab's  arm  warning  them  not  to 
offer.  "I  would,  only  I  am  not  proficient." 

"I  know  how  to  make  a  rabbit,  at  least  to  toast  the 
bread,"  said  Robert.  "I  '11  help." 

Mrs.  Wyndham  looked  anxiously  after  the  pair  disap- 
pearing down  the  hall.  It  was  not  hard  to  see  through 
Tom's  Machiavelism,  and  she  longed  to  follow  Jessamy. 

In  the  kitchen,  empty  save  for  Truce  still  hopefully 
waiting  for  mice,  Jessamy  lost  her  usual  dignified 
grace. 

She  cut  the  bread  for  the  toast  on  the  bias,  and  lighted 
the  top  of  the  gas-range  instead  of  the  broiler  to  toast  it, 
dropped  the  cheese  in  the  sink,  and  at  last  burned  her  fin- 
gers so  badly  with  a  match  that  Robert  had  to  come  to 
the  rescue. 


286  THE   WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"Let  me  see  them,"  he  said,  getting  possession  of  her 
hands. 

There  must  have  been  something  in  his  voice  not  quite 
suited  to  the  simple  words,  for  Jessamy  trembled  vio- 
lently, and  would  not  raise  her  eyes  to  look  at  him. 

Taking  the  little  burnt  hand  in  his,  Robert  forgot  why 
he  held  it. 

"Jessamy,"  he  said,  "I  don't  want  to  take  advantage 
of  any  little  gratitude  you  may  feel  toward  me;  indeed, 
you  ought  not  to  be  grateful,  for  it  was  chance  that  en- 
abled me  to  be  a  witness  for  you,  and  any  one  would 
have  done  what  I  did  for  mere  justice's  sake.  But  you 
know  that  I  did  it  for  you  with  joy,  because  I  was  doing 
it  for  the  girl  I  loved,  and  will  still  love  if  she  does  n't 
care  a  bit  for  me.  But  do  you  care  for  me,  just  a  little, 
Jessamy  ? ' ' 

"No,"  said  Jessamy. 

"What!"  cried  poor  Robert.  "Jessamy,  you  can't 
mean  that !  You  knew  I  was  caring  for  you,  and  you  are 
not  a  heartless  flirt!  Jessamy,  don't  you  care  for  me?" 

"Not  a  little,  Robert,"  whispered  Jessamy,  and  raised 
her  eyes  at  last  to  look  at  him.  Beautiful  eyes  Jessamy 
had  at  all  times ;  now  they  were  wonderful,  lighted  with 
the  best  and  most  precious  thing  in  the  world — a  pure, 
unselfish,  self -forgetting  love. 

Robert  read  it,  and  stood  a  moment  abashed  and  awed, 
as  a  true  man  should  be.  Before  he  had  time  to  recover, 
and  accept  the  great  joy  and  the  priceless  gift  which  were 
his,  Tom's  voice  was  heard  talking  volubly  as  feet  drew 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  SCALES  287 

near,  quite  as  though  he  suspected  the  situation,  and 
was  giving  Robert  and  Jessamy  warning. 

''Not  ready  yet?"  he  cried,  entering.  "Why,  you 
have  n  't  set  the  table,  nor  toasted  the  bread,  by  Jove ! ' ' 

Jessamy  stood  motionless  a  moment,  then  she  looked 
at  her  mother.  There  was  no  use  for  her  to  try  to  speak 
of  lesser  things,  her  heart  was  too  full.  With  a  swift 
motion  she  turned  to  her  mother,  who,  seeing  what  had 
happened,  gathered  her  in  her  arms. 

"Will  you  let  Rob  have  me,  mama— for  forty  thousand 
dollars,  you  know?"  Jessamy  whispered. 

"Three  cheers  for  Judge  Lane  and  his  bride,"  cried 
Tom.  ' '  Give  you  joy,  old  man !  Except  Bab  and  Phyl- 
lis, she  's  the  best  girl  in  all  the  world,  and  I  can't  say 
more  for  you  than  that  you  deserve  her."  The  two 
young  men  wrung  each  other's  hand  with  that  hearty 
good  will  that  means  so  much,  and  Phyllis  and  Bab 
kissed  Jessamy  with  smiles  and  tears.  Then  every  one 
rallied  to  make  the  occasion  worthy  of  itself.  Supper 
was  served,  not  only  the  belated  rabbit,  but  lots  of  other 
good  cheer;  and  the  health  of  Rob  and  Jessamy  was 
drunk  in  coffee  of  the  future  bride's  making,  which  may 
not  have  been  as  festive  as  champagne,  but  was  very 
delicious. 

Aunt  Henrietta  departed  in  such  an  amiable  frame  of 
mind  that  her  nieces  almost  hated  to  have  her  go.  Alan 
dropped  in  that  evening,  and  David,  who,  when  he  came, 
was  despatched  to  bring  Ruth  to  hear  the  double  tidings 
of  good  and  congratulate  the  happy  pair. 


288  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"But  the  best  part  of  the  whole  wonderful  afternoon,'* 
said  Bab,  as  she  bade  Tom  good-night,  helping  him  on 
with  his  greatcoat  in  the  hall,  to  do  which  she  had  to 
stand  on  a  chair,  owing  to  her  five  feet  and  Tom's  gen- 
erous inches,  "the  best  part  of  it  all  is  that  our  princess 
should  have  become  engaged  in  the  kitchen.  It  is  so 
funny!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Tom.  "  'The  queen  was  in 
the  kitchen,  eating  bread  and  honey' — sweet,  too,  you 
see." 

"Oh,  Tom,  you  goose!  No,  she  was  n't.  The  queen 
was  in  the  parlor, ' '  cried  Bab. 

"Well,  you  never  can  tell  about  versions  of  Mother 
Goose,  nor  where  love  will  get  you;  it  may  have  been 
the  kitchen,"  said  Tom,  the  wise. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


UNDER   THE   HARVEST   MOON 

HE  swelling  twigs  of  March  had  burst 
into  leafage;  rough  winds  had  shaken 
the  "darling  buds  of  May,"  and  the 
fruit  hung  fully  formed,  even  ri- 
pened in  many  cases,  on  the  branches. 
The  summer  had  flown  past,  a  happy 
summer,  the  last  of  Jessamy's  and  Barbara's  girlhood. 
Tom  and  Robert  had  urged  their  claim  to  begin  their 
own  homes  by  the  autumn,  and  Mrs.  Wyndham,  who  did 
not  approve  of  long  engagements,  had  yielded. 

"I  am  not  going  to  spend  the  very  last  summer  that 
I  am  free  to  be  as  jolly  as  I  wish,  without  responsibili- 
ties,—the  last  summer  before  I  settle  down  into  a  frumpy, 
solemn  old  married  woman, — struggling  with  clothes," 
Barbara  declared.  "If  I  can't  get  enough  together  to 
be  married  in  a  month,  I  will  start  life  in  a  shirt-waist 
and  a  duck  skirt.  We  are  going  to  have  the  very  best 
time  we  ever  had,  just  we  four,  with  our  own  particular 
boys  for  a  kind  of  entree,  all  summer  until  August,  and 
then  I  will  consent  to  talk  dress-making.  I  think  it  is 

289 


290  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

abominable  the  way  weddings  are  turned  into  bugbears 
—as  though  they  were  n't  bad  enough  in  the  best  regu- 
lated households!  That  's  what  the  nursery  rhyme 
means: 

"  Needles  and  pins,  needles  and  pins, 
When  a  girl 's  married  her  trouble  begins ! " 

"But  it  does  n't  say  girl.  Babbie;  it  is  when  a  man 
marries,"  said  Phyllis. 

"Misprint!"  said  Bab.  "You  ought  to  know  what  it 
is  to  have  your  sentiments  perverted  by  a  printer's  error. 
That  couplet  plainly  refers  to  the  bride's  agonies  in  the 
hands  of  the  dressmakers ;  what  would  the  man  have  to  do 
with  needles  and  pins  ?  It  is  perfectly  clear  to  me ;  but 
I  don't  mean  to  have  any  troubles  begin  that  way.  I  'd 
rather  be  myself,  ready  to  enjoy  my  new  happiness,  than 
be  married  all  worn  out  and  nervous  as  so  many  girls 
are,  just  for  the  sake  of  a  few  dresses  more  or  less. 
People  do  make  themselves  so  much  bother  in  this  world ; 
it  makes  me  ache  to  see  them ! ' ' 

"Hear,  hear!"  said  Jessamy,  applauding  with  two 
untrimmed  hats  she  was  holding  like  cymbals.  "What  a 
sensible  wife  Doctor  Thomas  Leighton  is  to  have !  How- 
ever, I  confess  I  agree  with  her— partly,  at  least." 

"Well,  I  agree  with  her  wholly,"  said  Bab,  impar- 
tially. "I  want  this  last  summer  we  are  three  girls  to- 
gether to  be  light-hearted  and  happy,  with  no  bother 
we  can  possibly  dodge." 

Barbara's  program  was  faithfully  carried  out.     The 


UNDER  THE  HARVEST  MOON  291 

Wyndhams  would  not  go  away  because  they  clung  to 
every  day  of  the  few  left  them  of  their  life  in  the  little 
apartment  where  happiness  had  found  them  out,  and 
where  they  had  blossomed  from  inexperienced  girls  into 
valuable  women.  Like  the  previous  summer,  when  ne- 
cessity had  kept  them  in  the  city,  they  took  their  country 
air  in  small  doses,  making  excursions  into  the  surround- 
ing fields,  if  fields  can  be  said  to  surround  New  York 
which  have  to  be  reached  through  such  long  stretches  of 
diminishing  tenements. 

In  August  the  serious  business  of  wedding  prepara- 
tions had  to  be  faced;  but  both  Jessamy  and  Barbara 
insisted  on  their  being  as  simple  as  possible. 

How  and  where  to  be  married  was  a  problem  for  two 
brides  in  one  family,  when  that  family  lived  in  an  apart- 
ment not  large  enough  for  their  daily  needs.  It  never 
occurred  to  the  girls  to  be  married  separately.  In- 
deed, Tom  urged  Phyllis  to  seize  some  youth — violently, 
if  she  must — and  be  married  with  the  other  two;  because, 
he  pointed  out,  it  would  not  only  be  effective  to  marry 
them  all  at  once,  but  save  trouble  in  the  future. 

Poor  Phyllis!  She  kept  her  feelings  bravely  hidden; 
but  it  was  not  easy  for  her  to  look  forward  to  parting 
with  Jessamy  and  Bab.  Even  though  they  were  to  be 
near  by  when  they  were  established  in  their  own  little 
nests,  Phyllis,  and  still  more  their  mother,  realized  that 
they  would  never  be  again  as  fully  their  own  girls.  But 
Jessamy  and  Bab  were  so  happy  that  it  would  have 
been  cruel  to  have  shown  a  shadow  of  regret.  Besides, 


292  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

Mrs.  Wyndham  and  Phyllis  could  not  regret  what  was 
so  certainly  for  the  greater  happiness  of  them  all  in 
the  end. 

Aunt  Henrietta  came  out  nobly.  She  returned  from 
the  sea-shore  early  in  September,  thus  breaking  up  her 
custom  of  years'  standing,  and  offered  her  big  house 
for  the  wedding.  "It  is  proper  in  every  way  that  you 
should  be  married  from  my  house,  and  have  the  recep- 
tion and  breakfast  there,"  she  said  solemnly.  "Your 
apartment  is  out  of  the  question  for  such  an  occasion, 
and  you  must  be  married  suitably  to  your  father's  so- 
cial position." 

"How  about  Madrina?  I  did  n't  think  one  could 
affect  the  standing  of  the  saints  in  heaven  by  unsuitable 
marriages!"  whispered  Bab,  the  incorrigible,  to  Jes- 
samy.  But  she  answered  her  great-aunt  dutifully,  with 
sincere  thanks  for  the  kindness  which  was  very  unex- 
pected and  great  from  her. 

Mrs.  Van  Alyn  made  a  similar  offer,  much  to  Mrs. 
Hewlett's  disgust.  "Does  she  think  you  have  no  kin- 
dred?" demanded  the  incensed  old  dame. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Jessamy,  discussing -the  matter 
in  a  private  family  conclave,  "that  it  would  be  more  dig- 
nified, besides  being  far  sweeter  and  lovelier,  to  be  mar- 
ried from  our  own  little  home,  and  not  from  any  one's 
house,  no  matter  how  dear  or  how  nearly  related  to  us 
she  might  be.  No  one  can  understand  just  what  this 
flat  meant  to  us  when  we  began  it  so  courageously,  and  so 
ignorantly  of  all  we  had  to  learn  and  do.  I,  for  one, 


UNDER  THE  HARVEST  MOON  293 

should  be  happier  married  from  it  than  from  anywhere 
else  in  the  world ;  it  would  be  mean  to  turn  our  backs  on 
it  for  the  greatest  event  of  our  lives,  for  which  it  has 
prepared  us,  and  which  began  for  us— I  mean  found  us 
out— here.  Then  it  is  our  home,  and  I  don't  like  bor- 
rowed plumage,  even  an  aunt's  house.  I  think  we  ought 
to  be  our  very  selves,  most  of  all  at  such  a  time.  If  Bab 
agrees,  I  should  prefer  having  our  friends  come  here 
to  welcome  us  and  wish  us  well  after  the  ceremony; 
and  I  should  like  a  wedding  suited  to  this  sort  of  living — 
suited  to  our  means,  in  a  word,  though  our  means  have 
increased  lately. ' ' 

' '  That  's  crystal  Jessamy  all  over, ' '  cried  Bab,  warmly. 
"You  know,  for  my  part,  I  loathe  show  functions.  It  's 
much  more  refined  and  dignified  to  use  one's  own  home, 
and  cut  your  garment  according  to  your  cloth — no,  cut 
your  friends  according  to  your  space.  Who  wants  a 
crowd,  anyway?  I  detest  big  weddings." 

"Of  course  I  should  prefer  it,"  said  Mrs.  Wyndham. 
"Why  not  be  married  quietly  at  the  church,  with  only 
the  immediate  families  of  Tom  and  Rob  and  our  own 
present?  Then  serve  a  breakfast  to  the  same  people, 
with  the  addition  of  most  intimate  friends,  and  go  away  t 
A  caterer  could  contrive  a  table  in  this  room  to  seat  all 
we  should  ask  under  this  arrangement." 

"As  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  said  Tom,  "the  less  the 
merrier.  I  know  Bob  thinks  so.  All  young  men  hate 
being  married,  and  would  like  to  sneak." 

"I  should  say  I  did  think  so!"  cried  Rob.    "My  hon- 


294  THE  WYNDHAM  GIELS 

est  opinion  is  that  the  only  decent  way  to  be  married  is 
to  escape  on  a  rope  ladder  out  of  a  back  window,  with  no 
one  but  the  parson  and  the  necessary  witnesses  the 
wiser. ' ' 

"Dear  me !"  laughed  Jessamy.  "I  really  do  not  think 
I  should  enjoy  the  ladder.  Then  it  is  settled;  a  quiet 
church  wedding,  no  one  present  but  our  own  relatives, 
a  breakfast  not  much  larger  attended,  and  then  rush  for 
the  carriage,  with  rice  and  an  old  shoe  to  follow,  and 
that  's  all." 

"We  are  not  going  to  have  a  stylish  wedding— dear 
me,  that  sounds  like  'Daisy  Bell/  does  n't  it?— so  let  's 
have  a  pretty  one — original,  I  mean,"  said  Phyllis.  "In- 
stead of  conventional  flowers,  let  's  trim  our  rooms  here 
with  jasmine  and  barberries;  they  are  ripe  now,  and 
they  would  really  be  wonderfully  pretty,  and  the  decora- 
tions would  be  Jessamy 's  and  Barbara's  names  written 
everywhere  in  white  and  red. ' ' 

"What  a  pretty  idea,  Phyl!"  said  Rob;  "but  where 
would  you  get  the  barberries  ? ' ' 

"Send  an  order  to  a  Boston  florist;  the  berries  grow 
abundantly  in  New  England,  and  he  could  get  them  for 
us, ' '  said  Phyllis. 

"It  would  be  lovely,  Phyl;  what  a  dear  you  are!" 
said  Jessamy.  "We  '11  do  everything  just  as  we  have 
planned  it  now,  and  write  grateful  refusals  to  Aunt  Hen- 
rietta and  dear  Mrs.  Van  Alyn  for  their  offers." 

The  wedding  was  to  be  on  the  twenty-fourth  of  Sep- 
tember. On  the  twenty-third  the  little  apartment  was  a 


UNDER  THE  HARVEST  MOON         295 

dream  of  beauty.  Phyllis 's  plan  had  been  successful, 
the  barberries  had  arrived,  great  boxes  of  them,  and  hung 
everywhere,  graceful,  bright,  autumnal,  yet  cheery,  full 
of  suggestions  of  the  woods,  yet  of  homely  virtues. 

They  really  were  rather  like  Babbie,  prickly,  pungent, 
little  and  slender,  bright  and  cheerful,  lighting  up  the 
darkest  corner  wherein  they  were  placed. 

As  a  foil  to  them,  white  jasmine  filled  the  rooms  with 
its  peculiar  perfume,  suggestive  of  Jessamy  in  more 
than  name  with  its  grace,  daintiness,  and  beauty. 

Phyllis  stood,  tired  but  satisfied,  surveying  the  com- 
pleted work  of  her  hands.  Nothing  was  wanting;  dear 
little  Babbie  and  their  Jessamy  bride  were  to  have  as 
pretty  a  wedding  as  love  and  taste  could  make  it— mere 
money  could  do  far  less  than  these. 

Phyllis 's  heart  was  heavy.  Both  the  brides  of  the 
morrow  had  gone  with  their  mother,  and  Ruth,  and 
Rob's  and  Tom's  sisters,  the  bridesmaids  elect,  and  little 
Margery  Horton,  who  had  earned  the  right  to  be  maid 
of  honor,  to  meet  Tom  and  Rob  with  their  best  men  at  the 
church  to  rehearse  the  ceremony.  Phyllis  was,  of  course, 
a  bridesmaid  also;  but  there  were  so  many  little  last 
things  to  attend  to  at  home  that  she  begged  off  from  the 
rehearsal,  promising  to  learn  so  well  the  instructions 
given  her  by  the  others  that  she  would  do  nothing  on  the 
morrow  to  disgrace  her  family.  The  bell  rang,  and  Vio- 
let admitted  Alan.  "I  brought  a  little  present,"  he  be- 
gan, and  handed  Phyllis  two  more  of  the  white-wrapped 
boxes  which  had  been  pouring  in  of  late. 


296  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"The  room  looks  pretty,  does  n't  it?"  said  Phyllis, 
after  she  had  thanked  him  for  her  cousins. 

"  It  is  beautiful ;  but  the  best  of  it  is  the  symbolism, ' ' 
said  Alan,  gravely.  "It  will  be  the  sort  of  wedding  I 
like." 

"All  weddings  are  dreadful,"  said  Phyllis,  out  of  her 
increasing  loneliness. 

"Now  don't  say  that,  Phyllis,"  said  Alan,  suddenly 
becoming  very  red.  ' '  I  want  you  to  look  forward  to  mine 
—I  mean,  I — what  I  want  to  say  is,  Phyllis— oh,  Phyl, 
don't  you  know  I  love  you?"  cried  poor  Alan  in  deadly 
earnest,  and  stammering  in  a  way  new  to  him. 

' '  Yes,  I  do  know  it,  Alan,  and  I  'm  dreadfully,  bitterly 
sorry, ' '  said  Phyllis.  ' '  I  have  tried  in  every  way  to  make 
you  understand  I  was  sorry.  I  wish  you  had  not  made 
it  necessary  for  me  to  hurt  you  to-day,  when  there  ought 
to  be  no  sorrow  in  the  air.  And  don't  forget  for  a  min- 
ute that  I  am  more  fond  of  you  than  of  any  one  in  all  the 
world,  except  my  dear  family.  But  there  ought  not  to  be 
an  exception.  I  could  n't  marry  you  unless  you  were 
dearer  than  every  one,  myself,  my  life,  to  me." 

Poor  Alan  had  listened  to  this  outburst  in  absolute 
silence,  his  one  refuge  under  any  strong  emotion.  Phyl- 
lis had  spoken  rapidly,  like  one  who  had  gone  over  the 
ground  with  herself,  and  who  was  under  pressure  of 
strong  excitement. 

' '  Then  you  won 't  marry  me  ? "  said  Alan.  ' '  I  tell  you, 
Phyllis,  I  won't  give  up.  You  say  you  are  fond  of  me; 
I  '11  make  you  fonder.  It  's  not  a  refusal;  it  's  just  a 


UNDER  THE  HARVEST   MOON  297 

postponement.  Forget  I  said  anything  about  it.  I  '11  get 
you  yet  to  say  yes.  Have  some  tea ;  you  look  tired,  and 
it  's  but  natural  you  should  not  be  cheerful  with  the 
parting  before  you,  and  you  all  saying  good-by,  as  it  were, 
to  your  girlhood.  I  had  no  right  to  bother  you  now.  I 
was  a  selfish  brute.  We  '11  be  the  same  friends,  Phyllis ; 
for  I  could  not  live  without  you,  my  girl." 

Phyllis  felt  as  though  this  determined  young  man, 
with  the  quiet,  intense  face  and  the  eyes  that  were  full 
of  love  for  her,  were  something  she  could  never  escape, 
and  the  feeling  frightened  her. 

"I  don't  want  to  marry;  I  have  my  work,"  she  said. 

' '  Oh,  your  work ! ' '  said  Alan,  with  a  man 's  and  a  fel- 
low writer 's  scorn  for  a  woman 's  career.  ' '  Fancy  giving 
up  love,  and  a  home,  and  everything  best  in  life  for  such 
a  thing  as  writing !  If  you  were  as  great  as  George  Eliot 
it  would  be  folly,  Phyllis." 

"The  only  reason  for  marrying  is  that  some  one  is  so 
necessary  to  you,  you  can 't  be  happy  without  him, ' '  said 
Phyllis.  "That  's  what  I  think." 

"Quite  right;  so  do  I;  and  you  are  necessary  to  my 
happiness,  my  dear,"  said  Alan,  gravely. 

"You  are  not  necessary  to  me,  Alan,  though  I  should 
miss  you  dreadfully  if  I  lost  you.  Oh,  please,  please 
don't  think  of  this  any  more,  but  let  us  be  friends  as  be- 
fore," said  Phyllis,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Don't  mind,  my  dear;  I  '11  call  for  your  tea.  And 
as  to  the  rest,  I  '11  be  necessary  to  you,  if  humble  trying 
can  make  me,"  said  persistent  Alan,  quietly. 


298  THE    flTYNDHAM  GIRLS 

The  wedding  was  at  noon.  The  day  dawned  sunny, 
warm,  and  lovely,  an  ideal  day  for  a  wedding.  Jessaray 
and  Barbara  were  dressed  early,  and  shut  themselves  in 
their  mother's  room  for  one  last,  sacred,  grave  little  talk 
before  they  went  forth  to  assume  the  vows  which  must 
always  be  solemn  to  those  who  remember  how  much  they 
include,  and  who  make  them  meaning  to  fulfil  them  to 
the  end  of  life,  however  long  it  be. 

Ruth  Wells,  Alice  Leighton,  Evelyn  Lane,  Phyllis 's 
companion  bridesmaids,  clustered  in  Phyllis 's  room,  sweet 
and  blooming  in  their  youthful  prettiness,  set  off  by 
rose-hued  gowns.  As  the  hour  for  starting  for  the  church 
sounded,  they  came  down  the  stairs,  giving  a  vision  of 
loveliness  to  the  admiring  children  gathered  from  neigh- 
boring flats  to  see  the  entrancing  spectacle  of  at  least  so 
much  of  a  double  wedding. 

The  church  held  but  few  friends.  The  simplicity  of 
the  service  was  not  to  be  marred  by  the  presence  of  those 
drawn  thither  by  idle  curiosity. 

' '  Who  giveth  this  woman  ? ' '  asked  the  clergyman ;  but 
there  was  not  one  present  who  did  not  give  something  of 
dear  Jessamy  and  Barbara. 

Barbara's  responses  were  inaudible;  the  solemnity  of 
the  occasion  overawed  gay  Babbie,  though  all  her  heart 
vowed  to  Tom  the  promises  asked  of  her.  But  Jessamy 
looked  up  at  Robert,  standing  tall  and  a  little  pale  beside 
her,  and  made  her  vows  in  a  voice  low,  but  so  distinct  that 
it  reached  to  the  door  of  the  church. 

And  Tom  and  Robert  vowed  to  cherish  and  love  the 


UNDER  THE  HARVEST  MOON         299 

precious  gifts  intrusted  to  them  that  day,  in  tones  that 
admitted  no  doubt  that  they  meant  to  keep  the  promises 
to  the  grave,  and  beyond  it,  if  that  might  be. 

The  wedding  breakfast  was  spread  at  the  return  of  the 
bridal  party.  The  table  did  crowd  the  room,  it  was  true, 
but  no  one  minded  in  the  least. 

There  was  not  one  guest  but  had  a  claim  to  be  there 
through  near  kinship  or  closest  friendship,  not  one  who 
did  not  love  more  or  less  the  brides  sitting  side  by  side 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  the  new  and  exceeding  proud 
young  husbands  by  their  sides,  and  the  bridesmaids 
clustered  as  near  as  circumstances  permitted. 

One  of  the  bridesmaids  wore  a  sparkling  diamond  on 
her  left  hand,  and  Phyllis  learned  for  the  first  time  that 
the  Scotch  friend  she  had  found  in  Boston  was  going  to 
take  from  her  the  friend  who  had  been  so  much  to  her, 
and  to  Jessamy  and  Bab,  through  their  days  of  trial,  for 
Ruth  and  David  were  engaged. 

Mr.  Hurd,  present  of  course,  as  few  had  a  better  claim 
to  be,  tried  to  make  a  speech,  but  broke  down,  and  ended 
more  effectively  than  his  carefully  prepared  sentences 
would  have  done  in  a  sincere :  ' '  God  bless  you  both ! ' ' 

Aunt  Henrietta  tried  to  relate  a  story  of  her  own  wed- 
ding, but  lost  the  point  in  an  unusual  burst  of  emotion, 
and,  instead  of  finishing,  produced  two  old-fashioned 
jewel-cases,  and  presented  them  to  Jessamy  and  Barbara, 
with  the  love,  as  Aunt  Henrietta  remarked,  with  unex- 
pected poetry,  "of  their  great-grandmother,  though  the 
dear  lady  had  not  lived  to  see  this  happy  day." 


300  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

It  was  hard  not  to  smile  at  this  bit  of  sentiment,  con- 
sidering that  the  brides'  great-grandmother  had  missed 
that  happy  day  by  some  seventy  years;  but  it  was  well 
to  have  something  to  smile  at  just  when  there  was  a  little 
danger  of  every  one  growing  sentimental.  When  Jes- 
samy  opened  the  leather  case,  there  lay  on  the  faded 
red  velvet  lining  of  hers  a  cross  set  with  diamonds,  and 
Barbara's  blue-lined  case  revealed  a  string  of  beautiful 
old  pearls. 

When  the  toasts  had  been  drunk,  and  the  cake  cut,  and 
the  little  white  boxes  of  cake,  already  prepared,  distrib- 
uted to  the  guests,  Jessamy  and  Barbara  arose  and 
slipped  away  to  lay  off  their  bridal  white  and  don 
the  traveling-gowns  in  which  they  were  to  go  out  into 
the  world,  no  longer  Jessamy  and  Bab  Wyndham,  but 
Mrs.  Robert  Lane  and  Mrs.  Thomas  Leighton.  Truce 
and  Nixie,  with  large  white  satin  bows  on  their  collars, 
superintended  the  transformation,  and  both  girls  stooped 
to  hug  the  little  dog  and  cat  who  were  so  thoroughly  as- 
sociated with  their  happiness. 

"Good-by,  you  dear,  loveliest  young  ladies  in  all  dis 
yere  world,"  sobbed  Violet.  "Miss  Phyllis  and  I  's  goin' 
take  care  you  ma  while  you  's  gone,  so  don'  you  worry 
'bout  nothin',  an'  you  gowns  sets  lovely." 

"Good-by,  dearies;  it  is  like  seeing  my  own  children 
married,"  whispered  Mrs.  Van  Alyn,  holding  Jessamy 
and  Bab  close  in  one  long  embrace. 

Phyllis  kissed  them  each,  and  each  clung  to  her  as 
if  the  parting  were  forever. 


UNDER  THE  HARVEST  MOON         301 

"Come,  come,"  called  Tom,  who  had  no  desire  to  let 
the  going  away  grow  tearful.  "  There  's  no  time  for  long 
hugs,  children,  and  we  '11  be  back  before  you  get  the  flat 
in  order." 

Mrs.  Wyndham  held  out  her  arms,  and  both  her  girls 
rested  in  them  for  a  moment  without  a  word. 

' '  Good-by,  darlings ;  the  best  daughters  a  mother  ever 
had, ' '  Mrs.  Wyndham  whispered ;  and  Jessamy  and  Bar- 
bara ran  down  the  stairs  without  daring  to  stop  or  look 
behind. 

A  shower  of  rice  fell  on  the  two  carriages.  Tom  and 
Robert  flew  through  the  storm,  the  drivers  cracked  their 
whips,  two  flushed,  sweet,  smiling,  tearful  faces  looked 
out  of  the  windows  for  a  moment,  and  Jessamy  and  Bar- 
bara had  gone. 

For  a  moment  Phyllis  and  her  aunt  clung  to  each 
other,  feeling  that  they  alone  were  left  out  of  a  wreck 
of  the  world.  Then  a  small  boy  rushed  up  the  stairs,  sent 
by  Tom. 

"Please,  ma'am,  Mr.  Alan  Armstrong  is  dead— run 
over  by  a  trolley,"  he  cried. 

The  cry  of  consternation  which  Mrs.  Wyndham  ut- 
tered drowned  the  moan  with  which  poor  Phyllis  fell 
unconscious  to  the  floor. 

"Oh,  what  an  ending !"  murmured  Ruth,  as  she  rushed 
to  help  Mrs.  Wyndham  raise  Phyllis 's  head. 

"Is  it  true?"  whispered  Phyllis,  when  they  had  laid 
her  on  the  couch  and  brought  her  back  to  knowledge  of 
her  pain. 


302  THE  WYNDHAM  GIRLS 

"Hush,  dear,  be  still;  we  have  sent  to  learn  the  truth. 
Dear,  dear  Phyllis,  do  you  care  so  much?"  sobbed  her 
aunt. 

Phyllis  turned  her  head  away  without  speaking.  So 
much !  Ah,  now,  too  late,  she  knew  how  much.  And  she 
had  wounded  Alan,  had  thought  her  work  might  suffice 
her,  and  had  told  him  he  was  not  necessary  to  her  hap- 
piness ! 

That  was  like  her,  not  to  know  how  dependent  she 
really  was,  to  go  on  happily  in  her  little  ways,  nor 
know  what  was  her  most  precious  possession  till  too 
late. 

That  was  the  cruel  thought — too  late,  too  late ! 

As  she  lay  there,  numb  with  agony,  Phyllis  saw  the 
long,  blank  years  ahead,  wherein  Alan's  dear,  leaping 
step  should  never  fall  on  her  ear  again,  and  could  not 
face  them.  Thank  heaven!  Jessamy  and  Barbara  had 
found  their  joy,  and  it  would  not  be  marred  in  its  first 
sweetness  by  knowledge  of  her  agony. 

A  step  came  up  the  stairs ;  it  was  curious— would  it  al- 
ways be  like  this,  Phyllis  wondered.  Should  she  always 
fancy  all  steps  like  his?  It  sounded  so  much  like  Alan, 
but  Alan  was  dead,  crushed — 

"Where  's  my  dear,  poor  Phyllis?  'T  was  a  cruel 
trick,"  cried  a  voice,  and  all  the  house  rang  with  Phyl- 
lis'scry  of:  "Alan,  Alan!" 

There  was  need  of  no  more  words.  Trembling,  scarce 
trusting  her  eyes,  Phyllis  lay  looking  up  at  Alan— Alan 
in  the  flesh,  come  back  from  the  dead,  and  to  her ! 


UNDER  THE  HAEVEST  MOON         303 

' '  I  have  learned  that  you  are  necessary,  Alan ;  I  should 
have  died  if  it  had  been  true,"  she  whispered. 

"It  would  have  been  worth  dying  for  if  I  could  n't 
have  taught  you  to  love  me  any  other  way,  my  Phyllis, ' ' 
said  Alan,  with  the  old-time  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  with 
a  suggestion  of  an  Irish  bull  in  his  meaning. 

"A  telegram,  ma'am,"  said  Violet,  gingerly  holding 
out  the  yellow  envelope  to  Mrs.  Wyndham. 

Mrs.  Wyndham  tore  it  open;  it  was  dated  from  the 
Grand  Central,  and  she  read:  "  'Beg  Phyllis  to  forgive. 
Nothing  less  would  fetch  her ;  wanted  Alan  to  share  hap- 
piness. TOM.'  ' 

"Well,  Phyllis  will  evidently  follow  soon,  Emily," 
said  Mrs.  Van  Alyn,  kissing  her  friend  good-night  very 
lovingly. 

"I  shall  be  the  only  one  of  the  Wyndham  girls  left," 
returned  Mrs.  Wyndham,  smiling  rather  tearfully;  "the 
last  corner  of  our  dear  square  of  four.  Jessamy,  Babbie, 
Phyllis;  they  are  the  best  girls  in  all  the  world,  Mary. 
Weddings  are  tearful  things  to  mothers,  but  who  could 
help  rejoicing  that  all  my  precious  three  are  so  blissfully 
happy?" 


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